


The Whole World And You

by ellieoh



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drama, F/M, Humor, Romance, Sexual Content, Teenagers, Teenlock, sort of kid!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellieoh/pseuds/ellieoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Mycroft saw Sherlock as the little boy he once was. Sometimes he saw her like that too. For as long as Mycroft could remember they had held a certain disdain for one another, his brother and the girl, but that had never stopped Sherlock from wandering into her bed at night. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU, obviously. I couldn't shake the idea of young!lock, so, here we are. It will eventually catch up to cannon, don't you worry about that.

He stared at the man in front of him, letting his eyes gaze over the way his broad shoulders haunched, the palates of blues and pinks that played under his hard but inquisitive mismatched eyes, clearly showcasing that he wasn't sleeping again, the way his fingers danced over his thighs in impatience and how his leg bounced with unsettled energy. They may not have been close, but there was no one that could read his little brother quite like him.

And presently, he could tell without a doubt that he wasn't doing well.

He was sobering again – which, was never an easy feat and only seemed to get harder each time he attempted it again. He looked like shit, if Mycroft was being honest – which he was, almost all the time. But he wouldn't say it to Sherlock's face, not right now.

Mycroft knew the only real reason Sherlock was even seated across him was because of the friend – John. If the man hadn't forcibly procured Sherlock, there would be absolutely no way his brother would've come, even at the express command of their mother. 

He huffed and settled into the uncomfortable plastic chair he was presently seated in, letting his eyes once again linger on his brother. This time he let himself casually look him over, not with critical, scrutinizing eyes, but with the barest of glances. 

He looked older all of a sudden, as though Mycroft hadn't thought of the possibility of them aging as fact instead of something that could be controlled. He looked oddly like their father these days, with the facial features of their mother. He'd always been the prettier of the two of them, which had caused his face to go red more often than not as children. But, for the life of him, Mycroft couldn't fathom how it was possible that they had grown so much physically, while staying so much of the same otherwise.

Sometimes when Mycroft looked at him, he saw Sherlock as the little boy he once was – small with unruly curls and sad blue-green eyes. It wasn't often, only in certain moments. Only when he let his stony demeanor slip and let himself for the briefest of moments feel.

Sometimes he saw her like that too – as a child, instead of the woman she was now. Like Sherlock, she too had changed. She wasn't a child any longer, and neither was he. No matter how much Mycroft treated him like one.

But, for as long as Mycroft could remember, they had held a disdain for one another – his brother and the girl – but, that had never stopped Sherlock from wandering into her bed at night.

He let his eyes wander over to his brother once again, conjuring up the image of the little boy he once was and adding in a tall girl with wild hair. It seemed right to picture them together, sometimes he wondered if Sherlock would be in this predicament if things had gone differently, if his brother wasn't so stubborn, if she hadn't been so accommodating. Maybe he would've been happy.

But, Mycroft knew that not to be true. Some people were meant to be happy and others were meant to be great – not matter how much he tried to deny it, his brother was not meant to be happy.

He pushed the thoughts away from his mind, clearing it and settling into the hard chair. He didn't look at Sherlock again, and he certainly ignored the way the brunette to his right pointedly looked at him from where she sat beside her best friend.

 

-0-0-

He couldn't remember the first time he encountered her – mostly because their mothers had been pregnant at the time – and then after their birth he was an infant, in-cognitive thinking and all that. He had simply been unaware. He wasn't sure what his first actual memory of her was – it probably had something to do with how utterly annoying he found her. Or, how she lingered in his garden, and the fields behind his home. He couldn't be certain, he'd known her for what he could very well assume was his whole life, there were lots of memories his six year old brain couldn't remember – something Mycroft liked to tease him about.

He was sitting on the window seat, Redbeard beside him with his head in his lap, watching. She was sitting on the floor by the fire, Mycroft was attempting to teach her chess. He scoffed, like she'd be able to learn how in only a brief sitting.

He wasn't calling her stupid – well, alright, maybe he was – but she certainly wasn't smart. She was normal, average, ordinary. She was just like every other six year old in the world, she wanted to run about the field and draw pictures. She wasn't like them, she wasn't...above it all. A small part of him envied her.

It was one of those periods where she'd be staying with them. It happened often enough, so much that her time spent in his home was almost as much as his. Her father was away on business all the time, going from country to country, her mother was the same, coming and going. His mother had always been fond of the little girl, telling Mrs. Addams that Evie was more than welcome any time. Her mother seemed to take his mother up on that quite frequently. 

So, here she was. Spending time with them. For who knew how long this time around.

He could see the tension in her shoulders as he watched her struggle, she was getting frustrated and didn't want to tell his brother. She probably didn't understand what he was trying to teach her, Mycroft did have a certain knack for making people feel inferior.

But, Mycroft was slower with Evie than his older brother ever was with him, he took just a second more of his time, and managed to hold back outwardly scolding her a good portion of the time too. He liked her, in his own Mycroft-y way. 

Maybe that was why he didn't like her. 

She heaved a sigh, her brows furrowed tight as she studied the board. She wanted to impress them, she always did. She was ordinary and they were just, better.

Mycroft had of course beaten her, but she didn't do as horrid as they had thought she would, she was picking up quicker than expected. His brother congratulated her on a good game and cleaned up the board, picking up his tea and sweeping out of the living room, leaving them alone. She stood, turning to face him where he sat by the window. 

Her hair was messy – like her – and very blonde from spending time outside. It laid around her shoulders in waves, the sunlight from the window behind him made the honey color shine brighter. Her light eyes looked like the ocean, vast, depthless, with swirls of blue and green. She was tall and lanky, she looked like a little boy – and she certainly acted like a boy.

There were too many things to comment on when it came to her, usually he was good at reading people – not as well as Mycroft could, his brother called it the art of deduction – but he was able to figure a person out by looking at the little things. There were too many for him to read her properly. Too many things popped up in his line of sight. And all he was left with was her ocean eyes, the small natural upturn of her lips, and how much she annoyed him.

He eyed her as she moved closer to him, coming to sit beside him on the window seat, Redbeard in between them. Redbeard liked Evie, turning to give her a quick lick before snuggling in the little spot he made in the gap between their bodies. He had never questioned his dog's competence before now, but it made Sherlock wonder and frown at the dog. She gave Redbeard a good rub behind the ears, the dog sighing heavily at the action. Traitor.

She turned her head to look at him, leaning into the window a little more. “Want to play?”

“Play what.”

His tone was aggressive, his attitude flippant. He barely even made eye contact with her, instead rolling his eyes and staring out the window.

She shrugged a shoulder, knowing full well that he was watching her even if he was adamantly pretending he wasn't. “Whatever you want.” She heaved a dramatic sigh, “I'll even let you try and deduce me like, Mycroft. Let's just do something.”

He thought it over for a moment, thinking about what else he'd be doing – which was nothing – before also over-dramatically sighing and rolling his light eyes. “Alright, fine.” He stood from the window seat, Redbeard's head shooting up, disgruntled from being awoken. “Let's go, boy.”

The dog jumped down from the seat, standing near it's owner, tail wagging. Evie stood too, following him out the back door and outside. They made their way out into the backyard, through the field that she loved to lay in and to the line of trees that circled his property. He jumped up and grabbed onto one of the sturdy branches, climbing up to sit on top of it. He looked down at her, she was looking up at him with that look that often swept over her eyes.

Wordlessly she did as he did, jumping up and grabbing onto a branch that was next to his, hauling herself up with a little more effort than he had. Redbeard was barking beneath them, jumping on his hind legs, trying to get their attention. She turned to him then, pulling her eyes away from the beautiful expanse of land that was the Holmes estate.

“You know your Mum will be mad we dirtied our clothes.”

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder, leaning back against the tree's thick trunk. “I'll tell her it was your doing.”

He watched Evie out of the corner of his eye, a small smile made its way onto her lips, her eyes narrowed at him. He hated it. “So, what are we playing?”

“You said I could deduce you.”

“If you want to.” She said coyly.

She knew he wasn't great at deducing her, he told her once that it was because she was too cluttered for him to possibly read. Whatever that meant. She was still looking at him, she liked looking at him. Mainly because she knew it annoyed him, but, also because she thought he was cute.

She'd never tell him that though, he was rude, cold, and often mean. He would make fun of her for it, so she'd keep it to herself.

But, he was sitting there, on the branch, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, looking out over the field. The bright sun was shining down on him through the tree's leaves, making his harshly pale skin seem softer in a way. His curls looked soft as they swayed a bit in the small breeze, shiny and chestnut. His freckles made her stomach flip flop and his sharp eyes made her heart titter nervously in her chest. She had always liked Sherlock, put up with his rude attitude because she thought they were friends. To some extent, they were. He chose to sit with her at lunch during school, scoffed at the other children that tried to monopolize her time, and partnered with her for group time.

He may have done all those things out of necessity, having no one else, but it still meant something to her.

When he turned to look at her with his sharp eyes, she didn't look away. A small smile on her face as she glanced back at him. He sighed and tore his eyes away from her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No. I'm not in the mood.”

She tried to hold back her smirk. “Okay. Want to play questions?”

He rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh – he was very clearly fond of those. She held in a chuckle at his theatrics. “Questions. How stimulating.”

“Well, what else do you want to play? You're the one who's so picky.”

“Fine. I'll play your stupid game.”

She smiled, “Alright...what's your favorite color?”

“I don't have one. Next.”

She gave him an astonished look, “You don't have a favorite color?”

“Yes, we've established this. Next.”

“How do you of all people not have a favorite color?”

“I don't understand why you're making this such a big – wait, what do you mean, me of all people?”

He turned his harsh eyes over to her, they looked different in the shady afternoon sun, brighter. She shrugged a shoulder, “You're just so particular about stuff, I figured you would.”

He gave her a long look before answering, “It's a pointless waste. I have colors I prefer, but the whole point of a favorite doesn't strike me as important.”

“So you don't have a favorite anything, then?” She looked at him innocently, questioning. “No favorite snack or shirt?”

“There's a difference between preferring and favorite. I don't have favorites.”

She gave him a lasting look before continuing. “You're odd.”

He tried not to let her statement resonate in his chest, tried not to hear the same words in Mycroft's voice ring out in his ears. He knew she hadn't meant it that way, not holding the same slightly malicious flare as his brother, it was just striking him regardless.

She watched his eyes darken and narrow at the ground, turning to look at her, angered. “Well, so are you.” She watched him jump down from the tree and start off towards the field, Redbeard in tow. She struggled a bit as she tried to get down, not as naturally swift or agile as Sherlock.

She went after him, he hadn't gotten far in his storming off. She ran up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off harshly. “Sherlock, wait. I'm sorry – ”

He rounded on her then, getting into her space. He was angry, his eyes sharp and a little watery. “You're annoying and bothersome. You ask too many questions and you're stupid.”

He watched her face crumble, her big eyes start to water. She pushed at his shoulders forcefully, not in the playful way she did sometimes when he said something roguish. “I said I was sorry, you goon!” She tugged harshly on his curls for good measure before turning and stalking back towards the tree, her shoulders shaking. He stood there for a moment, not entirely sure what to do. He was still angry, still annoyed, but now he was also not happy with himself. Before he could think on what to do, she whipped around and stalked back over to him, pushing the tears on her cheeks away. She was back in front of him before he even had time to open his mouth. “You're always so mean. You're rude. And, you're annoying.”

She pushed at his shoulders again, a few stray tears falling from her eyes. He hadn't meant to make her cry. She had just made him angry. He bowed his head slightly, “You're not stupid. And, you're not annoying.” 

He looked up at her then, it wasn't exactly the apology she had been looking for, but, she'd take it. “I know that I bother you.” She looked down then, stared at her trainers and how much they contrasted with the golden weeds of the field. She couldn't look at him. “And I know that you don't like me.”

“I never said I didn't like you.”

No, he'd never said that he actually liked her either, but he didn't dislike her. Usually. She just...grated his nerves.

“You sure act like it.”

He took her small hand in his and caught her gaze. “I don't like anybody. Don't take it personally.” He pulled her down to lay in the golden grass, this is what she liked to do, wasn't it? Lay in the fields? She fell down next to him, their hands still entwined. He stared up at the bright day above them. “The fact that I can stand you should be...enough.”

He felt a small squeeze to his hand, just a small bit of pressure to show him she was there. He didn't turn to look at her when she spoke. “It is.”

“Good.”

They didn't say anything after that, not for a long while. Redbeard laying beside them, rolling around in the grass, making funny noises that had them chuckling a few times. They just laid staring up at the sky, the bright day making their pale skin pinkish, their hands were still entwined.

He knew she was about to speak from the way her breathing changed, it had been slow, rhythmic, almost making him sleepy. Now it sped up a bit, indicating she wanted to say something. Her hand moved in his, not away, just unconsciously moving within his. He knew she was about to speak, that didn't mean he knew what she was about to say.

“Why did it bother you so much?” She turned her head to look at the side of his face. “What I said?” 

He wasn't sure if he wanted to answer her, or even if he could answer her. He shrugged his shoulder, still not looking at her. “It just did.”

“It's, Mycroft. Isn't it?” He turned to look at her then, taking in how gentle her eyes were. Not hesitant, gentle. “I'll take that as a yes.”

“How could you possible know that.”

She rolled those eyes of hers, not in a mean way, yet it wasn't playful either. “I don't need to have your brain to figure that out, Sherlock. I do have eyes. And ears.”

She could see a small flush rise over his cheekbones, his eyes drifted from hers. “Mycroft and I – ”

“Are brothers, who fight.” She finished for him, not letting him give her some fake excuse. She stayed with them, she understood what was going on, most of the time. “He's not always the kindest to you, I'm sorry.”

She watched his eyes harden a bit, her hand tightened on his, not letting him brush her away that easy. “I don't need your pity, Evie.”

“It's not pity, Sherlock. He's not always nice to you, I'm sorry he says mean things. That's comforting you, incase you were wondering.”

“I don't need your comfort.” He snatched his hand away from hers, but didn't move from the spot on the ground, his eyes still glaring up at the clouds.

She snatched his hand back, fighting him for a moment before he relented and let her take it. “Stop being that way.”

“And what way would that be?” He was being sarcastic, it was one of the many defense mechanisms she'd seen in her six years at the Holmes household.

“Stop pushing me away.”

“You'd have to be close for me to push you away.”

He knew that saying that would sting her, hopefully enough that she'd drop the subject. It wasn't going to work, she knew that's what he was doing, she wasn't about to give up that easy.

“Stop.” She tugged on his arm to gather his attention, he reluctantly turned to look at her, his eyes still narrowed. “Stop.” She said it gentler the second time.

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “I understand that you care, can we move on now?”

He opened his eyes again and looked at her, that gentleness returning back into her pale eyes. She just looked at him for a long while. “Okay.”

He wasn't sure how long they just laid there silently after that, how long they stared up at the bright sky, holding hands. It was easy, quiet with none of her mindless chatter filling the air, just silence. The rustling of the trees in the breeze, the small contented sighs from Redbeard, and the sound of her even breathing. He estimated it had only been a half hour, but if he closed his eyes, it could've been the rest of his life. His peaceful time was broken by the sound of his mother's voice, Redbeard perking up immediately, jumping up and running to her. He felt Evie stir from her stupor beside him.

He sat up, breaking his grasp on her hand. It felt clammy without her warm one, but he pushed it out as he stood from the ground, watching her do the same. She brushed grass and dirt from her stretchy-little-girl pants, her eyes still a tad droopy from their lie-in. His mother was still calling out, calling them in for lunch. He huffed as they trotted back to his house, neither saying a word until they were inside and seated at the kitchen table.

She went on and chatted with his mother about one thing or another, he wasn't listening, he had become expertly good at tuning people out when he wanted. He ate his sandwich, drank his milk, picked at her extra crisps and waited for her to be done as he was taught. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes starting to get heavy.

“Looks like Sherlock is ready to go down, how about you, Evie?” Evie nodded her head at Violet, who smiled down at them. “Alright, chickens, lets get you to bed.”

He stood from his chair, an annoyed look on his face at his mother's supposed endearment. He followed behind Evie and his mother into her room – his father was at work, so his parents bed was their nap room on the weekends. He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto his mother's side slipping beneath the soft blanket. Evie did the same, coming to rest beside him, her head on the pillow close to his. He watched his mother draw the shade down, making the room dark. He felt his heavy eyes start to shut, already hearing Evie's breathing start to even out. His mother gave them each a kiss to the temple before leaving them and closing the door behind her.

He rolled over to face her, Evie's eyes already shut, her long lashes fanned out against her cheek. He counted the freckles on the bridge of her nose – as he always did before falling asleep – feeling his eyes start to close entirely just as he got to twenty-seven.

-0-0-

They played the rest of the day in a comfortable silence, regarding each other quietly. They played cards by the fireplace, watched a movie, and he even sat beside her as she drew pictures. If anyone else in the house noticed their silent cohabitation, they said nothing. Leaving the two alone to do as they pleased for the rest of the day.

He felt groggy from his nap, he had rested soundly, the quiet noises she made while sleeping had lulled him. But, he felt as if he had awoke too soon, he was still tired.

Maybe that was why he followed her around for the rest of the day, his energy zapped. He hadn't put up a fight when she picked the movie to watch, or said a word as she began to color. He simply sat on the couch beside her, watching, thinking. 

He knew his fight with her had been more about his own emotions rather than her ignorance and irritating ways. He tried to drown them out, the feelings, the emotions. Mycroft said they were useless and that they would get in his way. He believed him, already they were clogging his mind and ruining his sharp skill. He knew Mycroft was at least somewhat right, even if he hated to admit it to his older brother.

He looked over at Evie, who was laying on her stomach, coloring as she simultaneously watched the muted telly. The light honey blonde of her hair was lighter during this time of year, her pants were a tad dirty from having a lie outside earlier, and her mismatched socks spoke volumes about her personality. He realized then that even at six years old, he could grasp things that others couldn't, and some things he understood more than Mycroft.

Evie turned and looked back at him, a smile in her eyes as she gazed at him from the floor. She held up her picture of a field filled with indigo bell flowers, her eyes soft and quiet as she looked at him.

“Blue-bells aren't native here.”

He said it with no undertone of malicious or sarcastic intent, just stating facts in a tired voice. He realized then he hoped she didn't take it the wrong way. But, she simply smiled at him, that secret look in her eye that he hadn't been able to figure out yet.

“I know. But one day, when I'm old, I'll have a garden of them. And I'll wear them in my hair and have them in my bouquet.”

“You certainly seem to have it all figured out.”

She just kept smiling at him with that secret look, it almost irked him. She shrugged a shoulder, “Maybe.”

She was so cryptic that it was infuriating, there had always been this secret sort of something that enveloped her, something he couldn't define. He just kept her stare for a while before turning back to the telly he hadn't been watching before. She went back to her picture, ignoring him for the rest of their evening until dinner. They ate when his father arrived home from work, smiling at them all and asking for stories about their day.

Evie was the only one who matched his father's enthusiasm, her exuberance and smile outshining his own – if only slightly. It wasn't the first time Sherlock had noticed how alike he, Mycroft, and his mother were, and just out normal his father was. He noticed it most when William interacted with Evie, both of them chuckling with wide smiles, easy conversation flowing between them. There was no cold, calculating nature, no narrowed glances or sharp words. He envied them, if only in that moment.

Soon dinner was over, his father retired into the sitting room to watch the evening news, his mother was washing up, and Mycroft had left to go do something more “worth his time”, as his older brother so gently put it. That left him and Evie to go get changed for bed and to play in their own rooms for the rest of the evening.

He didn't mind the time away from her, as he slipped on his pajamas and sat on his bed with a book. He liked being alone, cherished it even. But, that didn't mean he hated being with her, because that wasn't the case. He was use to her in his life, it only irked him when she was bothersome, otherwise, it was a normalcy he was content with.

He wasn't sure how long he had been in his room for, reading the book he'd taken from Mycroft's room. The sun had completely gone down, the house was quiet. His mother had come in to tuck him in an hour ago, turning out his light and kissing his forehead. He had kept reading after she left, hiding beneath his sheets with his flashlight.

He set the book and the flashlight on his bedside table, laying down into the bed, comforter pulled up around his shoulders. He closed his eyes and attempted to turn off his busy mind. He laid there for a while, listening to the soft noises of the house, the low murmur of the telly in his parents bedroom, the music from Mycoft's room next door. He rolled over and buried his head in his pillow, trying to fall asleep, willing himself to. 

He knew the minutes were literally ticking by as he laid there, awake. Finally, he stood with a huff, and left his room. He quietly opened her door, closing it just as quietly behind him and creeping across the carpeted floor to her bed. She was lying on her side, facing the window, breathing slowly. He climbed into her bed, getting himself comfortable on his side and closing his eyes – which had become heavy at the lulling sound of her even breathing.

He shifted, which in turn caused her to shift as well. She rolled over to face him, her eyes barely open as she looked at him. She smiled at him before closing her eyes again completely, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He whispered back before gently closing his own eyes and feeling himself relax into her warm bed.


	2. Chapter 2

He found himself watching her more often than not, intrigued the many odd and paradoxical things that consumed her person. She was easy to watch, yet not always so easy to interpret – although, he had gotten much better at reading her over the years.

She had use to be unfathomably difficult to dissect, too cluttered for his sharp mind to pinpoint and take in. It use to be almost painful to watch her, so many things jumping out at him and nothing at the same time. It was easier now, not easy, but easier. 

She was a mess.

That had been the very first thing he had deduced about her, well, the first thing he remembered anyway. She was messy, unkempt, disheveled. Her light hair always in a state of disarray, her clothes mismatching, her general attitude calm and easy going. She was just so vastly different from him. Yet, unlike how the other children they went to school with were different, she was something he hadn't quite figured out yet. Which, of course, drove him mad.

Presently, she was seated on the couch, book in hand, legs thrown over the arm and head resting back on one of his mother's allotted throw pillows. He wasn't quite sure why he was watching her, it wasn't as though she was doing anything exciting, or was about to do anything to interest him, but he stood rooted to his spot by the door, eyeing her.

Her long hair was pulled up into lopsided ponytail that laid out over the pillow beneath her head, she was dressed in her usual attire of clothing when they were not in their school uniform. Which consisted of her stretchy-fabric dance pants that she often called leggings – or something of the like, and one of his or Mycroft's button down dress shirts.

He watched her slow breathing, the way her chest fell up and down under the fabric of his dress shirt. He had begun to notice things about her that he hadn't before, Mycroft had guessed it on the first try one afternoon that he'd caught him staring at her – which, of course, had pissed him off. But, in a very un-Mycroft-like fashion, he had tutted and said it would fade with time.

He dreaded this. He wanted to go back to seeing things and people as he usually did, he wasn't all that jazzed to be stuck in this puberty nightmare where he couldn't stop noticing just how many times Evie had bit at her lips, or the state of her ever changing body. For the first time, he wanted nothing more than to be exactly the cool, unfeeling robot that was his older brother.

He pushed himself from the doorway he had been leaning on, momentarily distracted by the girl on his couch, and came into the room. He seated himself on her legs, which caused her to shriek and whack him with her book. “Get off me, you goon.”

“Oh, am I bothering you from taking up the whole couch?”

She simply just rolled her eyes and removed her legs from beneath him, huffing as she sat up on the couch. “What do you want, Sherlock?”

He quirked a brow, “I need to have a reason for sitting on my own couch, in my own house?”

She eyed him with narrowed eyes and a raised brow. “It's been a whole hour since you've deduced something, hasn't it.”

He rolled his eyes, “Please.”

She cracked a smile then, unable to help it and went back to reading her book for a while. He sat there beside her, staring up at the ceiling as he laid his head back on the couch, his fingers strumming against his thigh. He heard her sigh before closing her book and facing him. “Come on, let's play cards.”

He knew the silence would break her and smirked as she stood from the couch and went to sit at the kitchen table, grabbing the cards from the drawer by the sink as she did so. He followed her, making a show of it bothering him, but she knew he was just as bored as she was.

They played a few hands, chatting as they did so. He was use to her mindless talk, he found it didn't bother him as much as it use to, or as much as her friends – who irked him. He listened to her, not really taking it all in on a basic level, he was good at tuning people out. But, she had said something interesting that caught his attention, which of course had him scoffing and telling her how stupid she was, which then lead him to deducing.

He deduced things about her all the time, from the state of her dress, to the way her parents acted or the grades she got in school. He nitpicked, even the minute details that he would normally pass over, showing off to her – and to who ever else happened to around. Although, he'd never admit he was trying to impress her, he just wouldn't, but he knew deep down that's what part of him was doing. 

He hadn't realized it was cruel, hadn't realized it made her upset. He knew it had, but he really didn't know how much. She would get angry sometimes, pull on his curls and storm away, barking at him to shut up. Most of the time she just rolled her eyes and told him to sod off, ignoring his words and passing them off as just an annoying Holmes trait. But, after a rather painful quip, he could see the way her ocean eyes would glaze over and dart away from his. She was too proud to cry in front of him, but he knew that she did. The puffiness of her eyes and the sloppily pushed at tear marks told him she had. It struck him then, that he'd hurt her. It was never his intention. For as much as she bothered him, mucked things up, got in his way or annoyed him, he still liked her. He still cared for her. He had never meant to make her cry.

After a particularly strong tug to his hair for his rude remark, she pushed back from the table where they'd been playing cards and stalked off outside. He could already see her shoulders shaking as she pressed through the kitchen door. He heaved a sigh, his insides twisting. He stood and went after her, letting her keep the fast pace she had acquired. He watched her plop down in the field, the tall grass and flowers tickling her bare skin. He made it over to where she sat amongst the golden strands, sitting himself down beside her, looking up at the sky as she tried to stifle her cries. She didn't want to be weak in front of him, it would just be another thing he'd criticize.

He let out a sigh, turning to face her, but his eyes still turned elsewhere. “I'm sorry.”

“No you're not.”

He looked up at her then, bending his head slightly to catch her gaze. Her ocean eyes were watery, making them appear luminescent, tears spilled down her pale cheeks. He got it then, understood. All of his deductions critiqued her, made her feel inadequate. He had inadvertently done what his brother – and often his parents – unknowingly did to him. He'd made her feel less than. 

He did care, unlike most people thought, unlike what he tried to think, and he did care for her. For as much as they squabbled, she was his friend – his only friend.

He moved from his spot beside her, to sit directly in front of her, still holding her gaze. “I am. I'm sorry.” He pulled her closer to him by her bent knees that were tucked against her chest, his own legs on the outside of her hips. He laid his arms on top of her knees, resting his chin on the pile of limbs. He looked vulnerable to her then, something she wasn't used to. “I know I'm not normal like the rest of them, and I'm not good at pretending like Mycroft. But, I do... care. And I don't mean to make you feel bad.”

She brought a hand up to wipe away the tear tracks lining her face. She nodded at him. “Just... just don't call me stupid anymore. Or talk about my parents.”

He gave a brief nod, bringing his eyes up from where they were placed on the grass beside them to her own gaze. “Do you forgive me?” He wasn't sure why it was so important.

She looked at him for a moment before giving him a nod, “You're all I've got, I kinda have to forgive you.”

He stood from his spot on the ground, holding his hand out for her. “Come on, we have a game of cards to finish.”

She took his hand, lifting herself up. He kept her hand in his as they walked silently back to the house to resume their game of cards.

0-0-0

He found himself staring up at the ceiling, unable to stop counting the ticks the clock on his beside table made as the time passed. Everything felt wrong, out of sorts. His mind felt wired, unable to be shut off, his body felt ready to jump out of the bed as soon as it'd let him. He hadn't been able to fall asleep, he'd done everything he could to quell his restless mind, everything, and nothing had worked.

He heaved a frustrated sigh and turned on his side. He knew what it was, he knew why he couldn't find sleep, but a part of him refused to actually admit it.

She was at her own house tonight.

Her mother had come home, done with whatever she had been doing that kept her away – really, he couldn't be bothered with her parent's affairs – and that was where Evie was. At her own home, in her own bed, away from him.

He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes tightly. He was pathetic and stupid. 

But, he knew that was the trouble, Evie wasn't beside him. 

He was thirteen years old for fuck's sake and he couldn't even fall asleep without someone beside him. He knew that made him slightly co-dependent, and seeing as he'd always found himself to be particularly independent, it made him want to pluck out his eyelashes one by one. He shouldn't need her, but a part of him did.

He huffed and pushed the uneasy thoughts of the situation out of his mind and rolled onto his stomach, ignoring the ticking of his clock or the quiet stillness of his room. He closed his eyes and attempted to regulate his breathing, trying to switch off his mind.

She came back to his house the next day.

Apparently her mother had taken her out this morning to brunch and they went shopping, he tried not to point out to her that her mother was attempting to buy her affection. Normally he wouldn't have held his tongue about anything, but seeing as he now wanted something from her, he decided that refraining from being a bit of his normal self would increase his chances.

He noted the way her skirt sat a bit high on her thigh and he wondered if she realized that her mother was setting her up for failure by letting her wear something like that. He tried to turn his brain off.

She had been speaking about something – he honestly wouldn't have been able to attest as to what – when he cut her off abruptly. “You need to sleep here tonight.”

She just looked at him, her mouth still open from the words he had cut off and she quirked a brow. “What?”

“I realize your mother is home for the time being, but you need to sleep here tonight.”

“Oh?” She asked, looking at him with those calculating eyes. Sometimes he was convinced she was smarter than he gave her credit for, other times that wasn't true. “And why's that?”

He narrowed his gaze at her but she responded as she always did; a blank face that awaited his answer to her question. It was times like these that he hated she spent so much time around him, it was harder for him to be his normal rude self when she was so use to it. He heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes in a startling impression of his brother. “I slept horribly last night and it's really cutting into my work.”

Evie simply rolled her eyes and got up from the couch without a word. She did that sometimes; ignored him. He stood with her, following her as she moved across his kitchen and poured herself a drink before walking out the front door. He followed her, annoyed that she was ignoring him, and continued to question her motives as they made their way over to her house. Her mother's driver wasn't parked on the street, which either meant she wasn't home or was planning on staying put for a bit. When they entered the house and heard the smoky plummy voice ringing throughout he knew it was the latter. 

Her mother was on the phone, speaking to someone and laughing loudly. She didn't notice them enter and she didn't notice them leave. He followed her into her room, watching as she grabbed the backpack beside her bed and started shoving some clothes into it. She was coming back to his house.

He felt relief wash over him now that that issue was addressed and handled. 

“You could've just said that you know.” She looked up at him from where she was bent over and he tried with an exorbitant about of power to crush the swelling pubescent actions that threatened to over take him. “You don't always have to demand everything, you that I'd come if you asked.”

He sickly heat washed over him at her words and he promptly turned on his heel and walked out of her room, and her house. He was breathing harshly through his nose and was only slightly confused at why her words had affected him as they had. He knew what had happened, he knew what the problem was, and he had demanded she rest beside him tonight. Not for the first time – and very likely not the last – he hated being thirteen.

0-0-0

She had finished packing her bag, shaking her head at Sherlock's abrasiveness, and fully intended on leaving her room without a thought when she caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging on her closet door. She had grown a bit this year, hitting puberty and acquiring her period had given her a growth spurt that her dance instructors seemed to love. She didn't really think she fit into this body yet, it felt too long, too tall, she felt like a giraffe. 

The skirt she was wearing was a tad short, shorter than she normally would've worn, but she had eyed the pleats and the luminescent blue fabric fondly. Her mother had bought it right then. 

She realized that her parents tried to buy her affection, her “It's okay.”s to their apologies to not being around much. She just didn't need Sherlock pointing it out to her all the time. She did like the skirt though.

She left her room and still heard her mother's voice wafting through the air, her tinkering musical voice that had always convinced Evie that if she so chose, her mother could've been the star of a musical instead of the prima ballerina she was.

Her mother didn't notice her leave, just as she hadn't noticed her enter. She knew that Evie was at the Holmes and was more then happy to let Evie go as she pleased. She as quite independent for a thirteen year old, or so she'd been told.

She crossed the street and walked up the drive to Sherlock's. There weren't many houses where they lived, just a lot of land. She had always kind of enjoyed it that way, she liked that she had Sherlock and even Mycroft all to herself, that she didn't have to share them with anyone. Perhaps she was selfish, but she didn't really care. 

She let herself in and went straight to her room, dropping off the heavy bag in there. They had school tomorrow, which was why she agreed to come back tonight – Sherlock was a mess as it was, he didn't need yet another to set him off. But, deep down, she knew that even if there hadn't been school, she would've came to him anyway, because he asked.

He was her best friend – as startling as it may be. And while she knew that she wasn't his, that didn't stop her from caring about him. She could see it in his eyes as soon as she'd gotten home from being out with her mum, he had looked up at her from where he was seated on the couch, staring down at the advanced level placement homework in front of him. The deep bags had settled beneath his eyes, the palate of blues strangely complimenting his ocean eyes, his hair disheveled and his eyes themselves not as sharp and alert as normal.

She knew what his bad sleep nights looked like, this was one of them.

So, when he had demanded she say here tonight, she knew why he was asking. He hadn't slept well without her and he needed to be alert tomorrow. A part of her felt this involuntary and ridiculous happiness peak within her at the notion that he needed her, that he wanted her. It was a heady sensation, one that she didn't let linger because she knew it wasn't true.

She was mad at herself for allowing the crush on him to even form. He was off limits. He was her closest friend, she practically lived with them, and he would never think of her in the same way that she had begun thinking of him. He just wouldn't, it wasn't how it brain was wired.

He was the most clever boy she'd ever met, outside of his brother, but he couldn't see that the little things he did around her or with her gave off the impression that he liked her. He didn't, like her. But, sometimes she liked to pretend that he did.

Mycroft found her like that, standing in her room with a small smile etched onto her face. He stood in the hallway, a brow quirked as he watched her. When she finally felt the presence of another person and eyes on her she turned and faced him. 

Mycroft wasn't stupid. He had never been. But while he and Sherlock tended to be so similar, their differences were glaringly obvious. Mycroft was cool, calculating, almost unfeeling. He never went out of his way to be rude to her, he had told her once in his clipped and annoyed way that he was actually quite fond of her. She had thought he was joking, but then she had remembered that Mycroft didn't joke. Sarcasm was like a second language to him, but joking he did not.

She challenged him, sighing and rolling her eyes. “What?”

Mycroft just looked her up and down once before scoffing and shaking his head. She knew he wouldn't walk away without telling her, that was his vice. He always had to have the last word, while Sherlock on the other hand needed to show you how brilliant he was. They were a lot of work.

“I see he roped you back into staying here.”

She crossed her arms defensively, before realizing that it was defensive and let her arms hang back down at her sides. She hated that they were so good at reading people, it made it really hard to be a normal human around them. “He asked. There was no roping involved.”

Mycroft just rolled his eyes, “Please.”

“Is there something you needed, Mike?”

He narrowed his gaze at her for using the dreaded nickname, the only person who really called him that was their mother, but sometimes she used it when he was pissing her off. Like right now.

“Keep that up,” He pointed at her, his eyes still narrowed. If she hadn't known him as well as she did, she might've found it threatening. But, the only thing threatening about Mycroft was how tightly coiled her kept himself. “And I won't help you study anymore.”

She rolled her eyes at his threat. She knew that he would keep true to his word, but the fact that that's what he was threatening her with was just funny.

“Okay.” She relented, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I'm sorry about the M-word. Now, would you like some tea?”

He was looking at her again, in that certain way both the brothers got when they were trying to figure something out. He looked at her like that sometimes, like he was looking past her but also through her. It hurt her head and gave her butterflies at the intensity.

“Yes.” He answered, walking away towards the kitchen and leaving her to trail after him. Sometimes she wondered if this was to be her life – trailing after a Holmes boy for the rest of her days. The thought though didn't particularly seem that unenjoyable.

The rest of the day went by rather quickly. She had tea with Mycroft, finished her unattended school work, and watched the telly with William. She loved the oldest Holmes, he was bright and smiley and always made her feel more like his daughter than the charge she really was. She wondered where Mycroft and Sherlock had come from, because while they favored their mother heavily, even Violet wasn't as intense as the two of them were. They were a mystery.

At about half nine, she decided that sleep sounded like a good idea, seeing as how she needed to get back into school schedule and break her weekend freedom. She had bade everyone goodnight, went to her room, changed, and went to Sherlock's. He had been holed up in there for the majority of the day, finishing whatever paper he had been writing and ignoring everyone. 

A lot of things came easy to Sherlock – he was intelligent, quick, and comprehended many hard things easily. But, certain aspects of school had been a bit hard for him. Everyone knew how smart he was, but social interaction had never been his strong suit, and apparently neither was homework. Sherlock had always been the type to research things for fun, he knew more about random things than she knew about anything. But, his busy mind didn't fit in the classroom where he was forced to learn what they taught and forced to comprehensively right everything down in the form of essays and mundane homework. He tried his hardest to play the game, not wanting to be proven wrong, that he couldn't actually do things the normal way. But, he suffered for it sometimes. Like tonight.

She approached him cautiously, he was haunched over his desk, head in his heads. She rested a hand on his shoulder, alerting him to the fact that time had flown by. He looked up at her with confusion in his gaze, he had clearly been having a moment that lasted longer than he'd anticipated.

“Hey,” She spoke softly, her hand finding itself buried in his curls, scratching his scalp lightly. His eyes closed as she did so, he looked exhausted. “Why don't we go to sleep.”

He said nothing as he stood from his desk and stretched, she turned out his desk light and went over to his bed, crawling in. He shed his clothes, pulling on his pajamas before joining her. She couldn't help but let her eyes linger over the pale expanse of skin he'd put on display for her, he was skinner that she'd like to see him, but the sight of his bare back and chest made butterflies invade her stomach and the annoying crush she had for him rear it's ugly head. He got settled into his side and she turned out the bedside lamp, enveloping them in darkness.

She rolled on her side to face him, his tired eyes boring into hers. He looked terrible. Like, really terrible. She felt bad about leaving him last night, seeing him now. So, she did the only thing she could think of as an apology. “Roll over.” She demanded.

He quirked a brow at her, “Why?”

“Just do it.”

He gave her one last suspicious look before doing as she asked and rolling over onto his stomach. She scooted closer to him and pushed her hand up the back of his shirt, his head turned quickly to look at her, but she ignored him and let her hand move over his warm skin. She lightly rubbed his back in soothing circles, scratching sometimes to break things up. He continued to look at her like she was crazy, but soon his eyes started to close and within minutes he was out cold.

She continued to move her hand over his bad for a while after he'd fallen asleep, more for her benefit than his. His skin was smooth and soft under her fingertips and she wondered what his hand would feel like on her. She tried to push the blush off her face, grateful he wasn't awake to see it. 

She pulled her hand away and settled down beside him, tucked into the warmth that radiated from him. He was a piece of work, but in that moment she truly realized that he was her piece of work.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Rory Bryson's sixteenth birthday.

She had received the invitation in the mail, seeing as how she no longer went to school – being home tutored by Mycroft had it's benefits and pitfalls – and Maeve had texted her to ask if she was going.

Of course she was going. Rory Bryson was the most attractive boy in school, she'd say the most attractive boy she'd seen in real life, but that was only slightly untrue. No matter how utterly annoying and intense he was, Sherlock would always be the one she thought about late at night. But, Rory Bryson was a close second.

She had seen him a few times since she left school to be home tutored with Sherlock – his fault, per usual – but according to Maeve, he asked about her quite often. 

The thought of Rory asking about her made a smile instantly stretch across her face and a flutter being in her belly. She had a crush on him for a while, she realized that she was a teenager and that things like this were stupid seeing how she wasn't eleven years old anymore, but she couldn't help it. Rory had invited her to his birthday party and asked her best friend to make sure she was coming. She could damn well swoon if she wanted to. This warranted swooning.

Presently, she was getting her things together, waiting for Maeve to arrive. They were going to the party together, but Sherlock said he'd pick her up if she decided staying at Maeve's was unpleasing – he disliked her friends and disliked when she spent time elsewhere even more. He also had no desire to attend a party with people from their school, he'd never associated with them anyway. She hadn't the heart to tell him he wasn't invited.

She was curling her hair when Sherlock strode into her room, paper in his face, not even looking at her. “Did you know that there have been four murders within a week apart from one another down in the West End? And that they're ruling it a series of car jackings? Idiots.” He finally looked up from the paper and down at her, his brow furrowing as he looked her over. “Why are you doing that?”

“What?” She asked, continuing wrapping her hair around the hot iron. She met his gaze through the mirror she was seated in front of, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her, figuring something out.

“Why are you trying so hard.”

Now it was her turn to furrow her brows, “Excuse me?”

“I said, why are you trying so hard to impress this... boy? Why do you care what he thinks?”

She hated him and his stupidly large brain. 

“Because I fancy him?” She wasn't sure why it came out as a question.

“And you think he won't fancy you unless you play pretend with yourself?” He asked curiously, shaking his head, “I don't understand women.”

With that he turned on his heel and walked out of her room. She just shook her head and continued getting ready, this was her life these days, dealing with Sherlock's rapid fire mind and trying to be normal.

Maeve texted her not long after that letting her know that she had arrived and was ready to party – as much as sixteen year olds could, anyway. She rushed about quickly, gathering all the things she'd need and ran past Sherlock and Mycroft – who were in a heated debate over whether knowing the solar system was actually important – throwing herself into Maeve's car and trying not to hurl. That would probably be unattractive and the last thing she needed was for Rory Bryson to think she was any more of a mess than she already admittedly was.

“I am so ready to drink myself into bad mistakes and make memories I won't remember tomorrow.”

Evie just shook her head and let out a laugh at her best friend. Maeve Ellison was a piece of work, but she was Evie's piece of work. “I'm sure you are.”

“And what about you, miss?” She turned to look at Evie from her spot behind the wheel. “Are you ready to Bend It Like Beckham tonight?”

Evie couldn't suppress her smile and looked over at her best friend. “Absolutely.” 

“That's what I'm talking about!”

Maeve talked the whole way there. She talked about school and her brother, their archnemesis Katherine, the dance studio, and boys. But mostly they talked about Rory himself. How hot and sensitive he was, his adorable face and the unreal body he'd acquired from football. He wasn't exactly Maeve's type – she was more into the virgin nerds that would worship her. Evie didn't really have a type, she'd never really dated. 

It wasn't that she didn't want to date, because she did. It was just that she didn't really have the time between dance and school. There was also the little fact that she was usually chauffeured around by the intense and odd Sherlock Holmes, that didn't really score her a lot of dates. But, she knew that those weren't the only reasons boys weren't lining up to take her to dinner. She was intimidating, apparently. 

She had never thought of herself as particularly intimidating or abrasive, she knew she was loud and funny, but she'd always thought those were interesting traits about her. Maeve's little brother had been the one to break it to her, and it hadn't even been on purpose. 

Alfie Ellison had been trailing after her and Maeve for as long as she could remember. He was only two years younger than them, but he still constituted as 'Maeve's little brother' and they lovingly treated him as such. She'd always known he'd had a crush on her, it was painfully obvious at one time, unfortunately for him. She never said anything, because she wasn't mean spirited, but also because a part of her secretly liked the attention. She'd never say that to anyone out loud, but it was true. It was nice having someone that thought the world of you – even if they were two years younger than you and your best friend's little brother.

She had overheard him talking with his friends one time when she slept over. The three friends had claimed the Ellison's downstairs, forcing Maeve and herself to make camp on the second floor. She had come down to get the popcorn when she'd over heard them. They had been talking about her, how hot they found her, how beautiful and kind. But, how scary she was. 

Scary? Well, she'd never thought of herself as scary. She didn't think she was fit enough to scare anyone. But, apparently the boys found her scary. Intimidating in her confidence and energy. 

She was too confident, too high energy, too much of a put-together person for them to ever think about asking out one day. She was fit to stay a fantasy girl, they would forever be too insecure to make a move.

It made her wonder how many other boys felt that way, felt put off by her non-maiden-in-distress-ness. She wasn't like Katherine and her army of slags. She wasn't simpering and dainty. She didn't look up through her lashes, she didn't pout prettily. She didn't know how to be that girl. 

It seemed to work out for Maeve, who was abrasive and strong, who said whatever she wanted and smirked with her eyes. She had this dangerous try me-vibe about her, begging someone to take the bait. Which is why Evie always found it strange that she wanted the scared, shy, virginal boys instead of the hard intensity of the older guys that beckoned her. 

Love and attraction didn't really make sense.

They pulled up to the street where the party was located, it was taking place at his house, his parents went to dinner and left the only child Rory to do as he wished for the few hours they were gone. Some cars lined the street of his home, the lights on and bright, music could be heard as they strutted up the drive. Maeve knocked, because she was Maeve and she was fearless. Evie hung back and twisted her hips nervously until he answered the door. 

He smiled charmingly at them when the door opened, his wide vibrant smile making her stomach hurt, his fluffy golden curls caused an itching in her fingers. His clear blue eyes found hers and she momentarily forgot where she was and that Maeve was next to her. She only felt slightly embarrassed that she was being cliche and girly when she spent most her time fighting the fact that a part of her was. She prided herself on being confident and smart, girlish crushes and stupid bint-like behavior had never taken ahold of her quite like this before. 

"Hey."

But with that one syllable, she was transported to a parallel universe where she was just like those stupid bints and she found herself smiling wide in return. If Maeve noticed, she didn't say anything.

"Hi."

Maeve looked between them with a smirk in her eyes. "You gonna invite us in, Roar? Or, are we just gonna stand here like a bunch of wankstains?"

Rory smirked and moved away from the door, letting them in. They followed him through the hall and into the sitting room where the music was playing and people from school casual strewn about. Katherine was seated with her gaggle of slags, ignoring everyone. Maeve and Evie moved into the rom, saying hello to school friends they passed.

They'd been to parties before, some of the birthday variety, some not. Most of the time they looked like this, throngs of people, loud music, some alcohol poured. Rory's sweet sixteen party seemed pretty tame, which was nice. It gave her room to seek him out and talk to him if she wanted. 

She and Maeve ended up leaning against the doorframe that lead to the kitchen, which was devoid of people and quiet behind them. They sipped at their drinks and talked with a boy from school – Conner, who was their partner in Biology before she left school. He left to get another drink, leaving the two of them alone once more.

“Who else do you think is coming?” Evie asked, sipping at her mixed drink and eyeing the growing number of people in the room.

Maeve shrugged a shoulder, “Who knows.” She responded. “He practically invited the whole popular crowd from school, so, we'll see.”

Evie looked back to the large sitting room filled with kids from school, wondering what they were going to do once everyone showed up. Fortunately, she wasn't able to think on it for much longer, Bethany Whitmore and Desmond Caine snatched her and Maeve up to play a dance game on the tv. It was quite hard, even for a dancer, and soon the four of them and everyone around them was laughing as they all failed miserably at quickly copying the dance moves on the large screen before them.

Once they'd tired themselves out, Maeve moved to get a drink and Evie leaned against a wall, smiling and catching her breath. Their archnemisis Katherine stalked over to Rory and began to flirt with him like it was her job. Evie tried not to let it bother her, it shouldn't, Rory wasn't hers, she shouldn't care who he flirted with. But, it made her angry. Mostly because that bitch knew what she was doing. He was smiling and laughing at something she said, doing nothing as she placed her hand along her shoulder. 

It was then that Maeve casually bumped into them, causing her drink to spill on Katherine's clearly expensive top, her shriek being heard throughout the house. “Maeve!” The brunette glared daggers at the other brunette. “This was expensive, you cow!”

Maeve just rolled her eyes and began to walk away, “Oops.” was her only reply.

Rory laughed at the scene before him, causing Katherine to storm off with her friends to fix the mess of her shirt. Evie was laughing too when Rory turned and found her leaning against the far wall. He stalked over to her, a smile on his handsome face. He leaned beside her, both staring out over the party, loud music and even louder voices filled the space.

“What a night, huh?” He smiled at her and she tried not to get lost in the depths of his too-blue eyes.

“Happy Birthday.” She said quietly and smiled back.

“You're the first one to wish me a Happy Birthday.” He smirked down at her. He wasn't as tall as Sherlock, not as thin or broad, but he was still taller than her and wide enough to find appealing. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” 

Their eyes stayed connected for a while and she licked her lips unconsciously. She watched his eyes stray to her lips and she felt her breathing quicken. She tilted her head up a bit, her eyes lowering to his own pouty mouth. Was this it? Was she really going to kiss Rory Bryson in front of this whole party? Well, when in Rome, right? He looked like he was contemplating something, his eyes had lowered to her mouth and she swore he was moving in closer when the unthinkable happened.

The moment passed quickly and they both looked away from one another as they heard a crash. Maeve was on the ground being straddled by Katherine Scott, who was attempting to slap her but was being deterred by Maeve pulling at the girl's long hair.

They were in a catfight and there was a crowd cheering around them. They'd managed to knock over a side table and lamp in the process, causing the crashing noise. 

Before either of them could move from the wall, Maeve had Katherine pinned to the floor, pulling back her arm and punched her right in the face. Maeve was not someone to be trifled with, and she certainly wasn't a slapper. A swirling mix of emotions gathered in Evie's chest at the sight; anger at the bitch Katherine; anxiety that this was getting out of hand and that her best friend would be arrested before the age of seventeen; embarrassment for the almost-kiss that just occurred; and absolute shock that this was even happening.

Rory recovered quicker than she did, hauling Maeve off of the smaller brunette. Evie reacted quickly, coming to grab Maeve from Rory so he could deal with the exorbitantly pissed off Katherine who was kicking at Maeve from her spot on the ground. Rory picked her up and separated them, Desmond coming to grab the smaller girl from him. He stood between the two girls looking back and forth between them. Katherine's eye was starting to swell, but it did nothing to quell the murderous rampage in her gaze. Maeve looked calm, but her eyes were steely and hard enough to cut metal.

“I think it best if you both leave.”

Katherine looked shocked and opened her mouth to say something when Maeve cut her off. “Fine. Sorry we caused a scene and broke your lamp.” She said before shaking Evie off of her, grabbing her jacket off the couch and walking towards the door. While Katherine still looked like she was about to whine her way back into everyone's god graces, Evie shot an apologetic look to Rory before grabbing her own jacket and following Maeve out the door.

“Maeve, Maeve wait.”

She ran after her, coming to stand in front of her in the yard. She looked seething and pissed off, nothing like the calm, sarcastic, jokey friend she normally was.

“Evie, go back inside, enjoy the party. I'm going home.”

She tried to sidestep Evie, but she cut her off. “No, I'm not staying without you, not after that.”

“Stop.” Maeve started, staring intensely into the ocean colored eyes of her best friend. “You know you want to stay. I'm fine, I just need to cool off. Go back in there and cozy on up to Rory like we planned.”

The brunette started to walk off in the direction of her car once again when Evie stopped her, trying to persuade her friend to let her come along. “What about my ride home? I don't want to make you come all the way back out here to get me, it'd be easier if I just came with you – ” 

“Evie.” Maeve yelled. “Just go inside and call Sherlock to come get you later. Have him drop you off at mine if you really want. Just let me go home now.”

Evie stood there with her arms hanging at her sides, feeling stupid and unsure of what to do in this situation. She hated watching her friend walk away angry, she wanted to go home with her and cheer her up. But, if Maeve didn't want her company, what was she suppose to do? She watched her get into the car and pull away from the curb, officially leaving her here at this tension filled party, alone. 

She sighed and headed back inside, just in time to watch Katherine and her friends be escorted out by Rory himself. She looked like shit and Evie couldn't blame her, but she left with her head held high and her nose tipped up in the air. If it was one thing Katherine Scott was good at, it was being above everyone else.

Rory stood in the doorway, watching them go. He looked up to see her coming towards him and she smiled slightly. He returned it with a sigh and a small one of his own, closing the front door behind him and meeting her at the walkway. 

“So, that was a pretty crazy party foul.” She toyed with the coat in her hands.

He chuckled and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Sorry that it happened.” She wasn't sure why she felt the need to apologize, she probably would've hit Katherine too, but she said it anyway. He seemed like he appreciated the sentiment. “Maeve and Katherine just have a... volatile history together.”

“Oh, I remember.” He smiled out, coming closer to her. “They've always been at odds, I probably should've remembered that when I sent out the invitations.”

Evie shrugged, “Well, in any case, Happy Birthday?”

“You've already said that.” He replied teasingly.

“Have I?” She smiled.

He nodded, “Yup.”

They gazed at one another, the same spark flared up inside of her, her heart beating fast and her chest constricting. She was sure her face was red, but if it was he didn't seem to notice, which was good. They were having a moment very similar to the one earlier, the thoughts invaded her head again; are we going to kiss? Normally, in all stories and movies, the boy kisses the girl and it's magical and special and there's theatrics and fireworks or whatever. She had always been told the boy would ask her out, the boy would kiss her, the boy would make the move. 

But, the boy had never made the move.

At least, not for her. 

She had never been one to conform to the status-quo anyway. With that thought in mind, tired of waiting, tired of wondering, tired of being the best friend, she accepted her intimidating, abrasive, confident personality, leaned up and kissed him. 

She kissed him.

His lips were soft beneath hers, firm and rigid, but soft. He wasn't moving and neither was she. She wasn't exactly sure how this was suppose to go down, she'd never really kissed anyone before – apart from the one time her and Maeve kissed, just to see what all the fuss was about and incase they died in some freak accident, at least they didn't die truly chaste – but she'd seen the movies and the tv shows, read the books. She knew ideally how this was suppose to happen, but she couldn't be sure it was actually happening.

She knew for sure though, that he wasn't suppose to be unmoving. He wasn't responding, and that was not a good sign.

She pulled her mouth away from his, his eyes wide and confused. He nodded his head, “Okay. Thanks.”

“I – I just thought...”

His eyes still wide as he looked down at her, comprehending what she was saying and what had just happened. “You just thought... Oh.” Realization dawned on him then. “You thought,” He guested between the two of them.

“It's just... you invited me and made sure I was coming. I just thought that meant... something.”

She felt nauseas. 

What the hell was happening right now?

Rory sighed and nodded his head, wiping a hand over his face. He looked tired all of a sudden. “I invited you, Evie, because I like you.” She tried not to let his words affect her, but, they did. “And I miss you. I miss hanging out with you.” He added effectively. 

She nodded, “I see.”

“Look,” He started, coming closer to her. “This could be really embarrassing, but I don't want it to be. I don't care that this happened, you're still really cool and funny, and I'd hate to see this ruin our friendship.”

Evie shook her head and looked up at him, a small smile plastered on her lips. She ignored the urge to cry and reached up to hug him. He stiffened for only a moment and hugged her back, she released him quickly and ruffled his hair. “Don't worry about it, Roar. We're good.”

“Great.” He happily sighed, clearly relieved this was dealt with.

“Just, never bring it up again, yeah?”

He smiled and nodded, “Yeah.” He turned to head back inside. “You coming?”

She thought it over for only a second, just for appearances, before shaking her head. “Nah, I better go and check on Maeve.”

He looked disappointed, but smiled anyway. “Alright. See you soon?” He asked hopefully.

“Count on it.” She replied, her cheery-okay demeanor starting to crack. “Just text me sometime.”

He smiled that painfully sunshine smile and nodded before heading back inside, leaving her alone outside. She didn't feel the chilly air, she didn't feel anything really. She just wanted to sink down and cry. 

She was a best friend. Not a lover.

And apparently she was doomed to live this fate forever, becoming the old spinster cat lady who baked cookies for the neighborhood children and let them help her in the garden when their parents punished them.

Was there something wrong with her? 

Did she come off as that much of a feminist that boys were repelled by her? Was she seriously destined to die alone, a virgin and a best friend?

She wanted to sink into a hole and stay there for eternity at the thought.

Evie held back the tears as best she could, walking up the street a bit, dialing one of the only numbers she'd actually memorized. He answered on the third ring, his cool voice making her eyes water. “Shouldn't you be having so much fun at your party or whatever?”

“I need you to come get me.”

It was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, she took a deep breath away from the receiver so he couldn't hear her attempt at stifling her tears. When he spoke again his voice was devoid of any sarcasm and replaced with concern and curiosity. “Where's your friend – Ellison?”

“I just need you to come, Sherlock.” She wasn't doing a great job of keeping her emotions in check and if she didn't hang up soon, she'd burst into a full on sob. “Please.”

“Text me the location.” Was all he head before he hung up.

She pulled the phone away from her ear to text him the address, letting a few tears slide down her face, a hiccup forming from trying to suppress her breathing. She let herself cry for a moment, just really cry while no one was watching, before she wiped the tears from her eyes and regulated her breathing, calming herself down.

She thought about texting Maeve, to see how she was, if she'd made it home alright. But, she decided against it. She'd call her later to cry about the most embarrassing moment of her life thus far and the slight broken heart she was now sporting.

The thought that no one liked her in that manner, that no one wanted her in that way, really stuck with her and it was something she couldn't shake.

What was it about her that boys found so intimidating? Why did they see her as only a friend, a pal, a mate? Why couldn't they see her as an attractive girl? As someone to kiss or hold or fuck? Why was she condemned to this best friend life?

Was it the way she dressed?

She looked down at her skinny jeans and striped t-shirt and wondered.

Was it the way she spoke?

She couldn't remember anyone looking at her oddly or finding anything wrong with it.

Was it the company she kept?

Sherlock was her best friend, but she didn't see that having an effect on a bloke wanting to fuck her. She'd always had male friends, it had just been easier than forging friendships with girls. Maeve was the exception, clearly. She was more guy than girl anyhow.

So what was it? What was it about her that made her eternally lover-less?

Her thoughts were cut short as Sherlock pulled up to the curb. She quickly got into the car, ignoring the way he glanced at her with furrowed brows and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest once she was seated. She didn't say a word to him, just stared out the windshield in front of her, her jaw set and using an exorbitant amount of effort not to cry. He said nothing at her silence and drove away from the curb. His silence, however, didn't last very long.

“Was the party not to your liking, then?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Was her clipped response. 

That had him interested. She always wanted to talk, even when she claimed she didn't. But he could read it not only in her voice, but in her body language as well that she truly did not want to talk. Now that struck him. “And where's the Maeven? Why did I have to trudge all the way out here to Bible country to retrieve you?”

“I said I don't want to talk about it, Sherlock.” She turned to face his for the first time, her ocean eyes hard and glassy. “Leave it.”

He stopped at a stop sign and placed the car into park, turning to face her. She clenched her jaw and shook her head at him, all while looking forward under the pretense of ignoring him. He looked her over; the glossy sheen of her eyes; the rosy redness of her nose; the jacket in her hands instead of on her body which suggested she fled rather quickly. The pieces were adding up to something that he didn't particularly like, but also something he couldn't figure out. Whatever the bigger picture was, it involved her night not ending well.

“I'll sit here till you're out with it.”

Her voice was stony and pierced him in a way he wasn't use to. “I meant what I said – I don't want to talk about it.”

He scoffed, “Please. You know you're just itching to bark my ear off about all your problems like usual, let's just get it over with then.”

“No.” She yelled at him, the tears still threatening to return. “Just because you can't see the bigger picture doesn't mean I have to tell you.”

He was getting frustrated and she was pissed. Did he always have to be an insensitive nightmare? God. 

“I don't understand why now all of a sudden you decide to be tight-lipped, honestly. Frankly, I think you're being quite – ”

“William!” She cut him off, turning to face him, anger lining her features. “I said I don't want to talk about it.”

He stared at her in shock. She had just first named him. Actually just first named him. His mother didn't even call him by his given name – no one did. He was practically convinced that he'd never even heard her say his given name until now. He had clearly underestimated just how upset she was at the moment, but he was dying to know.

He had all the pieces of the puzzle, he was just unsure of how to make them fit into the picture it would become. But, he knew pushing her right now wouldn't be productive for either of them. He may have been denser than Mycroft most of the time, but he could still read a situation – he just had to choose whether he was going to ignore it or not. Right now though, he wasn't going to. He knew the girl next to him well enough to know that if he pushed her, they'd both be walking away angry.

So he turned back in his head and drove off, the silence overwhelming both of them. But still, she said nothing. And he was happy to leave her like that, stewing in her own anger while going over the pieces in his mind to put the picture together. It wasn't until he felt her shoulders shake violently that he pulled himself from his own mind to tend to her.

They had just pulled up their street, heading towards his home when the quiet sobbing started. He stopped the car where they were, down the road from both their houses, turning to look at her. Her shoulder racked intensely, her hands covered her face, and no sound could be heard apart from her deep breaths. Sherlock looked concerned, unsure of how to even begin to assess or fix this particular situation. 

He never really dealt with crying women before, and for the most part Evie didn't cry. Well, for the most part he didn't even put Evie in the category of women. She had cried a few times as children, when they had fought particularly hard over something, but he could honestly only recall a few times she'd actually cried. And she'd never cried quite like this.

“Stop that.” He demanded. 

It was clear that Sherlock was very, very uncomfortable with this situation, but she couldn't begin to care. “Just take me home.” She managed to ground out through her sobs. Was she being overdramatic? Probably. Was this totally unlike her? Absolutely. But, she couldn't bring herself to give a shit right now. Her heart hurt and that was all that mattered. No one was home at her house and that's exactly where she wanted to be; by herself.

Sherlock just continued on down the road and pulled into her driveway. He turned to look at her once more as she pulled herself together and opened the door. He didn't ask her again what was wrong, he didn't say anything, he just looked at her with those cool blue-green eyes, calculating.

She closed the door behind her and didn't look back at him, she couldn't, not right now. It was just another boy who would never see her as a real girl, as someone he'd want to kiss, someone he'd want to be with. She was a-sexual to Sherlock, not a boy or girl, not anything but his friend. It just continued to hammer in the fact that no one wanted her, not her parents, not the boys she liked, not anyone. She was cursed to be forever alone while being surrounded by friends. It was a pain worse than death.

She slunk to her room, to the bed she never used, the room she was never really in, the things she never really wore. She shed her clothes, pulled on her cozy pants and slipped into the cool sheets. Sometimes it felt odd to sleep in here after spending so much time across the street, in the room across from Sherlock's, in the warm sheets Violet picked out for her. But, right now, this is exactly where she wanted to be.

She didn't want to think about anything or anyone, she didn't want to be comforted, she just wanted to cry. She wanted to loudly wail or sob deeply with abandon. She just wanted a little pity party for herself for just a moment and then she'd be fine.

She did cry. She cried hard and to herself, blowing her nose and wrapping herself up in her sheets, clutching a pillow tightly to her body. She wasn't sure how long she'd laid there, probably only an hour or so, before he snuck into her room quietly.

She knew he was there, she always knew. Mainly because he wasn't as sneaky as the thought he was. 

But, he slipped into her bed, under the sheets she'd wrapped tightly around herself, pulling the comforter up and over them. Her back was to him, but that didn't matter, his presence soothed her and he did something that she use to do to him all the time as children. He lightly, so lightly she almost didn't feel it, ran his fingers over her back, hesitantly, sweetly. It made her want to cry all over again, but she didn't. She closed her eyes and let him sooth her in a way he knew how – not with words, not even with actions, just with being there.

Her breathing had evened and she didn't feel like crying anymore, now she just felt exhausted. He said nothing, just continued to quietly run his fingers over her back, her arms, whatever was visible to him, soothing her. She wasn't sure why she decided to speak, to break this quiet moment between them, but she did.

“He didn't want to kiss me.”

It was quiet, still, he didn't stop his motions on her back, but it took him a moment to reply back to her. “Who?”

“The boy – Rory. The one I fancy.” She tried not to cringe at the way her voice cracked.

“Is that what this is about?” 

His voice didn't hold any sarcasm or malice, it was practically devoid of emotion, but the comment still stung. She turned around to face him, his movement halting, his arm now slung over her body, almost cradling her to him. He wasn't – cradling. But, if she closed her eyes, she could pretend. She didn't close her eyes.

She looked up at him, her red rimmed ocean eyes meeting his own. He called them that because that's what they were; vast, heavy, depthless. Like the ocean.

“Yes. That's what this is about. I kissed him and he... didn't want to kiss me. He doesn't like me in that way, he likes me how they all do, a friend instead of a girl he wants.” His brows were furrowed, puzzled by her confession. She didn't tear her eyes away from his. “No boys want to kiss me. No boys want me. I'm everyone's best friend, the funny one, the one to hang out with, not the one to date.”

“So,” Sherlock started slowly, his brow furrowed. “You're upset because one boy didn't want to kiss you?”

“It's not just one boy, Sherlock, it's all of them. Rory not wanting to kiss me, not wanting me as a girlfriend is just one of all the boys I've liked that haven't liked me. I've never been someone's crush, someone's girl, someone that someone else wants. I want to be wanted, I want to be kissed, I want a boy to look at me the way I look at them.”

Her eyes were wide and passionate from spilling her emotions, from finally letting out everything she'd been feeling and not saying. Usually it would be Maeve on the receiving end of things, it just happened that it was Sherlock right now. A part of her pitied him and loved him for bearing through this, because he looked quite uncomfortable and a tad overwhelmed as his brain worked to sort out what she was saying.

“Why do you care what others think of you?” He was truly confused by the notion. He could care less what others thought of him, why couldn't she do the same?

She sighed, “Because I want them to care. I want a boyfriend. I want someone to spend time with and share things with, and kiss, and hold.”

His brows furrowed as she looked down at her laying beside him, his arm draped over her side, his hand pressed against her back, her eyes staring up at him. The conclusion hit him then, “So, you want our friendship with another boy with whom you can kiss?”

Evie thought over what he'd just said. He was basically right, that is what she wanted. Primarily without the other boy part, if she was being totally honest. “Yes.”

“Well,” He started, she could see his mind moving a mile a minute, his cool eyes expressing only that he was thinking and nothing more. “I'm your friend, and I do seem to be holding you.” She looked down at his arm and felt his hand on her back for the first time. “If I kiss you, will you stop all this nonsense?”

Her breathing stopped and her eyes went wide, she recovered in a millisecond and shook her head at him, her eyes cutting in a marvelous impression of his mother. “Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock.”

“I said, will you stop this nonsense?”

“Sherlock, I don't truly think you're comprehending what I'm trying to say – ”

“I'm making an executive decision here.” He leaned down to cut her off once again.

“ – about the situation – oh!” 

He placed his lips over hers, muffling her gasp and effectively shutting her up. Hell, if he'd known it would've been this easy to silence her, he would've done this ages ago. He felt her hand move up to his face, her thumb on his cheek, her hand on his jaw and the rest of her finger grazing his neck and hair. The overall sensation of her mouth on his and her hands on him wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't something he'd thought about or particularly wanted, but it wasn't something he was adverse to.

She pressed her lips harder to his, taking in the moment that she was pretty sure wasn't a natural occurrence and wouldn't happen again for another hundred years until the planets aligned and a new Pope was born, or something. His lips were cool and soft under hers, different from Rory's pillowy lips, but much more exhilarating. She'd wanted to kiss Sherlock since she knew that she liked boys and wanted to get close to them.

His skin was soft under her fingers and his hair was as it always was. She unconsciously moved herself closer to him as she bit at his lower lip, his hand tightening on her back as she did so. She wasn't really thinking, she was only living in this moment with him, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy and her body hot, tight and coiled like a spring. He moved his mouth against hers and she moaned. That seemed to break both of them from whatever had come over them. 

She released him from her grasp and he removed his hand from her back. They still laid facing one another, their eyes searching each other's for something, anything that showed that this was a mistake. When they didn't find one, they relaxed back into their positions, just as they were before.

Evie waited to feel the wave of embarrassment wash over her, but she didn't. It seemed as though Sherlock was figuring something out in his own head, but said nothing of it. She just looked at him for a while before he spoke, thinking about the fact that he had kissed her and she had moaned. Well, maybe a little embarrassment creeped in there.

“No more nonsense, then.”

She looked up at him and laughed, shaking her head. “Fine. No more nonsense.”

He gave a nod, “Good.”

They laid facing each other for a while after that, though not actually looking at one another, both just too comfortable to move. Evie was getting sleepy, she looked past him at the clock on her beside table, it read one in the morning. She stretched a bit, rousing him from the inside of his mind where he had escaped to, and rolled on her stomach, her face still towards him.

“Rub my back again, I'm sleepy.”

He rolled his eyes and she could feel his sarcasm before he even opened his mouth. “I did not sign up for this indentured servitude.”

“You didn't sign up to be my friend either, but look how well things turned out.”

He glared at her back for her sarcasm but did as she requested and moved his hand lightly over her as he settled into her warm bed. She was asleep within minutes and it didn't take him long to follow, the only thought on his mind before drifting off was that she really needed to invest in cozier bedsheets if he was going to have to sleep over here and avert more breakdowns.


	4. Chapter 4

She had just gotten home from dance, she was late and she was tired. Usually Sherlock picked her up, showed up five to ten minutes before her class ended, and waited impatiently for her to be done. Of course causing all the girls in her class to become distracted by his annoyingly attractive presence, all trying to stand straighter, busts pushed out, looking graceful and wanton all at the same time. It made her mood sour immediately at the thought. 

It was already difficult to deal with him on her everyday level, but adding in all these other gorgeous ballerinas was not something she particularly like to be involved in. No, Sherlock didn't see anyone, didn't see beauty or anything that wasn't cold logic, but that didn't mean that the right person couldn't stir that within him. It bothered her that it might not be her, that it might be one of these girls that caught his eye. Yet, after every class, he made an annoyed little sighing noise and directed his intense blue gaze at her, and solely her. 

The other girls were jealous of her, they were jealous that she was close with the elusive Sherlock Holmes, that she spent time with him, that he picked her up from class. They had asked her time and time again if she was dating him, she wished it were true. She would respond with a scoff and tell them how hard he was to put up with, that they'd have to have the patience of a saint to deal with Sherlock Holmes.

She wondered what that made her then, could she receive a medal for putting up with him?

Her class had neared it's finishing point and she glanced out into the hall, but Sherlock wasn't there. It was odd, he was never late. She brushed it off, continuing her class, pushing him to the back of her mind. But, then her class ended and he was still not there. She pulled her mobile from her bag to check her messages; one text, from Sherlock.

Get a ride home.  
I'm in the middle of something.  
-SH

She bit the inside of her lip in mild anger, he couldn't have told her sooner? She breathed through her nose, shaking her head. What a prick. It was times like these that she wished he wasn't so consumed with himself.

She changed quickly and went over to one of the only girls she could stand to be around in the dance company, her other best friend in all the world. Maeve was sitting on the bench while the other girls pranced around, changing and talking, Bradley sitting next to her, just taking it all in. Bradley was the youngest in the company, she was insanely talented and everyone was jealous of her, causing them to be mean. Maeve and Evie were the only ones she'd talk to, mostly because they didn't judge her.

Evie looked at the two girls sitting next to each other, coming to sit beside them. Maeve was not typical in any sense, her long black hair was pulled up haphazardly on top of her head, the smudging of her dark makeup, even the bored look in her amber eyes. Maybe thats why Evie liked her so much, she wasn't like everyone else. 

Bradley looked over and gave her a smile, Maeve turning her head towards Evie. “What's up?”

Evie sighed, a smile on her lips. “Wanna give me a ride home?”

Maeve's brows furrowed, looking around the hallway. “Where's your chauffeur?”

“Doing something more importantly, apparently.”

Maeve saw the annoyance in her friends blue-green gaze and nodded. “Alright, but only because I like you so much.” She stood up then, grabbing her clothes to change, “I have to take Bradley home first though, cool?”

Evie nodded her head, “Yeah.”

She waited as the two girls changed, chatting lightly with some of the other girls. Maeve and Bradley came back, clothed, and grabbed their things, Evie following suit. They walked out of the studio and made their way to Maeve's expensive car – she knew that most of the girls that took lessons here were well off, it was an expensive place to be involved in, seeing as most of the girls went on to join the Royal Ballet or the London Contemporary Dance Theatre.

Some of them found it odd that she didn't have a car, that Sherlock was made to drop her off and pick her up. They knew who her mother was, they knew how much money she had, which is why they gossiped about her. But, her parents were never around, when could she have them purchase a vehicle for her? It was fine the way it was, at least to her. She didn't mind being around the Holmes all the time, she didn't mind being carted around like a child. It wasn't like she could do anything about it anyway.

They piled into Maeve's car, talking about the upcoming auditions and the midyear show, they talked about how Bradley was fairing at her new school and when Maeve's band was playing in London. It was actually fun riding with the girls, she was so used to Sherlock and his eye rolls and his silence as he let her talk on and on, simply listening. It was nice to be engaged by girls her own age, about things they all liked. Sure, she would be late, yes she was tired, but she enjoyed this time with them. It made her realize just how out of the world she'd been since she left school to be home taught with Sherlock.

They dropped Bradley and then it was just the two of them. Just Evie and Maeve. And Maeve was giving her that look.

“No, Maeve, don't even start.”

“Come on! I hardly see you anymore. We haven't talked in ages.”

“I promise I'll pry Sherlock away from me so I can come spend a weekend at your house, okay?”

She had hoped that distracting her with the idea of a sleepover would excite Maeve into a conversation about something else, that of course, didn't happen.

“Fantastic! Alfie misses you terribly, as do I.” She smiled over to Evie, who was wearing a smile herself. She'd missed Maeve, she really had. “But, tell me about dear old, Mycroft.” 

She said his name in a sing song-y voice that made Evie instantly pull a disgusted face. She really didn't understand Maeve, didn't understand how her gross mind worked. For as long as she had known Maeve Ellison, she'd had a crush on Mycroft Holmes. 

Evie had nothing against Mycroft, she loved him in a brother sort of way, he was part of her made-up family. But, did she find Mycroft attractive in any way? That would be a no. 

Mycroft was...older, dignified, intelligent. But, he was also a prick. He didn't really have emotional connections to people, she couldn't even recall how many times he'd told Sherlock that sentiment was akin to weakness. Why Maeve continued to pine after the untouchable Mycroft Holmes was beyond her, but she stopped questioning her friends judgement a long time ago.

“He's...fine.”

“Oh, come on. Give me more than that, I need something new to add to my spank bank.”

Evie just closed her eyes and shook her head at the mere thought, “Ew, Maeve. Seriously, ew.”

“Oh, please.” Maeve rolled her eyes. “Like you don't think of the other Holmes boy while you diddle yourself.”

“Yeah, but Sherlock is attractive. Mycroft is...like my older brother.”

Maeve raised a brow, “And Sherlock isn't?”

“No, he's not.”

“Hmm, interesting.” She let the silence sit for a moment before jumping back in to interrogate Evie. “Just, come on, give me something to work with.”

“Ugh. Fine.” She yelled and turned in her seat to face Maeve more. “What in the hell do you want to know?”

Maeve just smiled, “Hmm. Tell me what he's been doing when he visits.”

Mycroft was twenty-four, compared to their seventeen, he didn't live at home anymore, he wasn't even in Uni. He was now working for the British Government – very hush hush and all that – but, he did still come every week to tutor them.

“He tutors us, looking bored and annoyed every time we step in the kitchen with our school books.”

Maeve made a little humming noise and bit her lip, a smile on her face. “Good, and what else?”

Evie wrinkled her nose, “Stop making those noises over the gross scenarios involving Mycroft that are happening in your mind right now.” Maeve just chuckled and smiled wider. “He drinks his tea slowly, he reads by the fire, he only rolls up his sleeves when he's helping Violet cook, and he still wears those stupid suspenders.” 

Maeve was just smiling wide. “You did good, kid.”

Evie shook her head and wrinkled her nose again. “Can we stop talking about Mycroft now? It's making me nauseas.”

Maeve barked out a laugh and nodded her head, “Alright, I'll let you off the hook this time. But, if he does anything interesting or sexy in any way, I expect a detailed text.”

“Seriously, I've never been more grossed out in my life. And, I've unfortunately seen him shirtless.”

“You lucky bitch.”

Evie just started to laugh, despite herself and Maeve joined in. It was all so ridiculous that Evie just didn't even know what to say, Maeve wanted Mycroft the way she wanted Sherlock. God, if only the Holmes boys knew.

“When did this fascination with Mycroft even start, Mae?”

Evie was pretty sure she'd asked Maeve this before, but, it never hurt to rehash the story. Mostly because Evie just couldn't believe it was real.

“When Sherlock got kicked out of school, all the Holmes were there to pick him up, even Mycroft.”

“It was a punishment, for getting kicked out.” Evie added.

Maeve laughed, continuing. “Well, there he was, tweed suit and all. Those gorgeous eyes narrowed at Sherlock, a sneer and a smirk on his nip-able lips.” Evie was basically gagging. “I was standing with you out front when they all walked out from the school, Headmaster trailing behind them. Mycroft turned to look at us, giving you a look and telling you to come along. I almost sighed, right there, in front of him. He looked at me before walking away. And, ever since I've just wanted to fuck the logic right out of him.”

“Nope.” Evie was shaking her head. “Nope.”

Maeve gave her devious smirk. “What? Like you've never thought about riding a Holmes boy like a horse.”

Maeve knew that Evie liked Sherlock, even if it was only because he was undeniably attractive. Though, Maeve knew that Evie liked him on a deeper level, they were best friends, she knew these things, even if Evie didn't want anyone to know. 

It was hard with the Holmes boys, they were distant, cold. Sherlock didn't have friends, he liked to be left alone, he liked to solve puzzles and he could figure a person out in mere seconds. He wasn't at all accustom to social graces, didn't know when to not say things, and always said what was on that very smart mind of his. Evie was an exception.

She had grown up with him, literally. She had confided in Maeve on more than one occasion about just how neglectful her parents actually were, how the Holmes essentially raised her. She had told Maeve just how close she and Sherlock actually were too, how deep rooted their friendship was – even if he hadn't noticed it. And, once, when Evie was drunk, she'd told her that Sherlock slept with her. Not in the fuck-yeah kind of way, unfortunately. He would apparently climb right into bed with her, bring himself close to her, and just sleep. 

Maeve had been shocked to hear that Sherlock Holmes, the Sherlock Holmes, annoying, rude, seventeen year old genius, slept next to her best friend every night. It was just...odd.

When she had asked drunk Evie about it, she had simply said that they'd always done it. Since they were kids. They would be put down for naps together, Sherlock always fighting against it, and they had just... never stopped.

Maeve had taken to watching Sherlock after that, tried to see the small differences in the way he spoke to Evie, looked at Evie, his general being around Evie. So far, it had come up inconclusive – seeing as she didn't actually have all that much interaction with him. But, she tried to get Evie to talk about it, for her own sake, she knew her best friend was pining after Sherlock, even if she didn't want to admit it.

Evie flushed a bit from her friend's provocative mouth. “Well of course I have, I am human, Maeve.”

Maeve liked to push her buttons, and most of the time she just let her. It was much easier than fighting her friend or denying what she actually felt. Did she like Sherlock? Yeah. Was he a rude ass about ninety-eight percent of the time? Absolutely. Did she daydream about having her way with the handsome prat? All the time.

Maeve wasn't wrong, she was just annoying about it.

Evie wasn't prudish either, she made inappropriate comments all the time to try and get a rise out of Sherlock – whatever that raise may be. But, to actually talk to another person about how much she desired Sherlock, well, it was just not something she was used to. She spent most of her time surrounded by the two boys and their parents, they weren't crass or roguish in any way, it was just not common to her.

Maeve let out a peal of laughter at Evie's comment, nodding her head. “He is beautiful, isn't he?”

Evie just nodded, that was all she could do. Because he was beautiful, but also a pain in her ass.

They arrived to her street and Maeve maneuvered her head while she was driving to try and get a peak at the Holmes residence to see if Mycroft's car was there. Evie shook her head at her best friend, smiling. “Thanks for the ride, Mae.”

She pulled into Evie's driveway, the house was empty, dark, just as it always was. Evie didn't often stay at her own house, it was usually out of use when her parents weren't home – which was always – but every once and a while she would make her way across the street and sleep in her own home. She would of course wake up to Sherlock asleep beside her, and when he awoke he would scold her for not telling him that she was over here.

Sometimes she'd have Maeve over for a slumber party, Violet had told her Maeve was welcome to stay in her home any time, but Evie had always felt bad for bringing another person into the Holmes house that didn't have to be there. Plus, Sherlock always got bitchy when she was with her friends. His deductions were always more critical and immediate. She stopped bringing Maeve over to his house – much to her disappointment and his delight.

“Any time, babe.” She leaned over and gave Evie a hug. “See you on friday. Text me about a sleepover, don't forget!”

She grabbed her dance bag out of the back, “I won't, I promise.” 

She closed the car door and waved to Maeve as she pulled out of her drive. She dug her key out of her bag, picking the unused one on the ring, and stuck it into the door. It was already unlocked, which either meant someone had broken in, or Sherlock had made his way into her house. Seeing as the latter was certainly more of a probability, she wasn't at all scared for her life. On the contrary, she was annoyed at him.

She walked into her house, closing the door behind her, turning on lights as she went – even though the sun was still shining through the windows – she was never particularly fond of dark empty houses. She dropped her stuff in the kitchen, grabbing a water out of the fridge and made her way into her bedroom. She saw the light on from the end of the hallway and got instantly more angry. Why was Sherlock in her room? It wasn't like she went in his room while he was out.

She walked in, the door was open, hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed. He was sitting on the end of her bed, brows furrowed, his hands steepled, pressing to his lips. They moved under his chin when he noticed her approach. He didn't turn and look at her, but he knew she was there.

“Sherlock.” Her voice was harsh. “Why are you in my room.”

“You're angry.” He brought his gaze to the clock on the wall, before going back to looking at nothing. “And you're late.”

She scoffed, “Of course I am. You left me without a ride home.”

“It seems you've managed.”

“Only because Maeve was nice enough. She had to drop Bradley off first.” He continued not looking at her, his hands steepled, his brows furrowed. “So what were you doing, then?”

He brought his gaze up to her then, “When?”

She was exasperated, “When you couldn't come get me.”

His brows furrowed again, but he remained looking at her. “I was experimenting.”

“Experimenting. Great. Just, great.” She lean towards him in a way she thought looked threatening. “Don't do it again. Or, have a legitimate excuse. Not that you were experimenting.” She let out a deep breath and shook her head, looking around. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

He cleared his throat and brought his gaze away from her, “I came over to grab something for my experiment.”

She looked around her room, everything seemed to be intact and in place, the last thing she wanted was Sherlock roaming through her things only to dissect or disintegrate them. It was then that she noticed the open draw of her dresser, her underwear drawer. She started to flush uncomfortably.

“You went through my underwear?”

She was on the verge of yelling, he could sense it in her voice, he'd been on the receiving end of the yell enough times to know when it was coming. 

“I needed a pair for my experiment – one of my clients needed a theory proven about which accelerant would create a certain residue if the garment should be charred. I figured since you reside mostly at my home, the clothing you most wear would be over there. Therefore I figured that a pair from here would not be entirely missed.”

He directed his gaze to her then, she looked tired from dancing, her hair was out of the bun and down around her shoulders. She was wearing those stretchy-fabric pants that she often called leggings, and a oversized jumper that covered her breasts. She looked angry, her eyes narrowed on him, her lips in a straight line, her breathing a tad accelerated. And she was flushed – which was odd. She didn't flush when she was angry.

He wondered why he had never thought to look at her like a sexual being before now. Sure, he'd thought about her when he was thirteen and in the throes of puberty – which, had been the worst years of his short life. Literally everything had been on haywire within him, his sharp mind muddled with hormones and emotions, his body reacting to even the slightest of things. It had been dreadful.

He thought about her as an actual girl after he'd kissed her last year, but it was short lived. He usually put her in the category of friend, family, she was just a staple in his life that he could neither remove or replace. She was just there. He didn't think of her as a girl or a woman or someone to feel a romantic connection with. The kiss had sparked something in him, something he had analyzed for days, but then like all things, it had faded away and he no longer saw her in that way once again.

Since then, since he grew out of it and locked his mind down, he just hadn't thought about it. He had needs and urges like every other functioning human, but he just took care of them himself, efficiently and quickly, so he could get back to work. But now, after earlier today, he couldn't help but look at her this new light, in a way he truly hadn't before.

He noted that she was beautiful, in his terms of beauty – but, he saw the way others looked at her and knew her to be socially pretty as well. Her skin was pale and smooth, her freckles from childhood had faded mostly, as had his. Her lips, when not straightened in anger as they were now, were plush and inviting. Her body was fit, she was long and curvy, not bony and thin as some of the other girls she pranced about with tended to be. She was... stimulating. And, with her dancing experience, he could only assume that she would be flexible, which he read was an... interesting thing.

He was still internalizing the situation and her when she spoke. “So you burnt a pair of my knickers?”

She was yelling now, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open in shock. She looked mad, still flushed. She stalked over to her dresser, now standing on the other side of him.

“No.”

She turned towards him, “No?” She looked confused, her arm hung out, vaguely gesturing to the dresser beside her. “I thought you said that you needed them for – ”

He cut her off, “I said that I needed a pair, not that I took a pair.” He looked up at her then, she still looked confused at what was happening, still flushed from the neck up. “I came to take a pair, but when I did, I found something... intriguing.”

She stilled, her breathing almost stopping entirely. He watched her, as she tried to act normal. As if he couldn't read her incredibly well.

“Oh?”

He caught her gaze, standing from the bed. “Yes. I was... perplexed.”

They stared at one another for a moment before Evie came over and pushed at his shoulders angrily, it was a move she hadn't done since she was a child. “This is why you shouldn't go through my things.” She pushed him once more, slapping his shoulder, hard. She turned away after that, moving away from him. 

He was looking at her back, “You're embarrassed.”

“Of course I am!”

“Why? It's a very common practice that almost everyone takes part in – ”

“Sherlock, just stop talking!” She turned around to face him, her cheeks deeply stained red, her eyes wide.

“I'm simply just stating – ”

“Seriously, Sherlock, no. Stop.” She shook her head. “It's not like I go through your room and start talking about you masturbating! I'm a nice person, what do I do that I deserve this level of mortification?”

He knew that last statement was rhetorical, she was stating that to herself. She was embarrassed at being caught with some sort of masturbation device, he didn't know its name or understand its function. He wasn't quite sure why she was so upset, so he went through her things and found something she'd rather him not see, that happened all the time, why was this so different?

“I don't see why you're so embarrassed. It's not like my mother or Mycroft found it, it's only me.”

She covered her face in her hands, shaking her head. Her voice was muffled as he responded. “It's still mortifying, Sherlock.”

“But, why?”

“Because it is!”

They were silent for a moment, Sherlock looking at her, then to the drawer. Evie just stood there with her face in her hands, willing the raging blush to die down. This was the most mortified she'd ever been, in her life. She was going on in her head about how this was the worst ever when he spoke.

“How does it work?”

She wanted to collapse to the ground and be buried alive.

She brought her hands away from her heated face to look at him. He was studying the drawer with furrowed brows, thinking. That was his thinking look. He then looked up at her, his eyes curious and intense.

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes, “I mean, how does it work? I'm not knowledgable in this subject and it's driving me mad.”

Her heart started beating fast in her chest, the embarrassment of it all threatening to swallow her whole. She shook her head, “You want me to explain to you how a vibrator works?”

“Yes.”

This is where Maeve would tell her to be seductive and becoming, showing him what he's been missing out on. If she ever got the courage to even utter a syllable of this to her, Maeve would literally die. This was officially the oddest, most exhilarating moment of her life, thus far.

She took a moment to think over the options she had, the scenarios playing out in her mind. Was she really going to be this embarrassed in front of Sherlock? She was with him most moments the day contained, she couldn't hide from him. She just needed to buck up and get over her total and utter embarrassment. She needed to channel Maeve, she needed to... do something. This was a chance, wasn't it? A chance to show him that he wasn't as intimidating as he liked to claim he was.

Or, she could punch him and tell him to get out. Be mad at him for a few days until he promised not to breath a word of this ever again and delete this moment from his hard drive. That probably wouldn't happen, so, she was forced to go with plan A. She sighed.

She cleared her throat and walked over to the dresser drawer that was still pulled open, she moved over a few of the underwear, pulling out the blue vibrator. She flushed again, fighting against the nervousness she felt. Sherlock was clinical, he just wanted to know. He wouldn't use this against her. She kept repeating that to herself as her brought it closer to her.

His eyes were trained on it, his brow furrowed, a studious look on his face. “You, ah,” She cleared her throat again. “Just, turn the bottom and it vibrates. Hence the term.”

He peered closer, “But, how does it work.”

She looked up towards the ceiling, breathing in through her nose. He was gonna make her say it. If he were any other boy she wouldn't be doing this, and if he were any other boy she'd think he were trying to get in her pants. But, it was Sherlock, and that wasn't likely the case, unfortunately.

“You insert it for stimulation. Really, Sherlock, it shouldn't be that hard to grasp.”

He gave her a look, he didn't like that she was implying that he was stupid. But, he knew that she was embarrassed and her tongue became rude, so he'd let it slide. He stood up to his full height, looking at her in the eyes.

“Show me.”

She gapped like a fish out of water, staring at him like he was mad. “I'm not going to show you!”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, “Honestly, Evie.”

She scoffed, “Don't you Honestly, Evie me, Sherlock Holmes.” She pointed a finger at him, her eyes narrowed. “I will not be subject to humiliation just because you don't understand something.”

“It's an experiment. I need to see how it works.”

“You don't need to see anything.”

“Would you really be that humiliated in front of me?” 

His voice was serious, he was honestly asking. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he sounded a little hurt at the notion.

She sighed, some of her anger draining. “It's not you, Sherlock, it's just that it's...you.”

“I don't understand.”

She knew it was taking a lot for him to express that, he hated to not know.

“It's just, people don't usually go around touching themselves in front of someone their not... intimate with.”

He pondered that for a moment, his voice taking on the same serious quality it had before. “I would never tarnish your reputation, Evie. Besides, who would I even have to tell?” He watched her shoulders fall back into their normal slope, the anger fading completely from her body. “Honestly, I just want to know. I'm curious, it's my downfall.”

“So, this is an... experiment.”

He nodded, “Yes.”

She bit at her lower lip, drawing his eyes there. She felt the air evacuate her lungs, she met his gaze, keeping her eyes on his. Was she really about to do this? The little Maeve on her shoulder told her yes, and was jumping up and down. The more sensible part of her told her how utterly bad of an idea it was. She felt her mouth moving of its own accord.

“And you'll tell no one. Ever.”

“I promise.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and let out a long breath. “Fine.” He let a smirky-smile fall onto his lips. “But, I want my own experiment in return.”

His eyes narrowed at her, “What kind of experiment.”

It was her turn to feel bold, she stepped a little closer to him. “I want to watch you.” Her voice was still a little shaky, clearly she wasn't as confident as the Maeve in her thought. “If you get to watch me, then I get to watch you.”

They stared at each other silently, each willing the other to break first. She would not back down, if this is what he wanted than that was her price. It was fair, in her opinion.

“Fine.” He said, not breaking eye contact.

She mimicked him. “Fine.” They held their stare for a moment longer, she was willing the nervousness in her to die. “I'll go first. You'll be ready by the time I'm finished.”

She moved away from him, going to her bed. With her back turned to him, she let out one last shaky breath. She could do this, she could be alluring. She placed the vibrator on the bed, pulling her leggings down and stepping out of them. She gave herself a mental powwow and a you go, girl before stepping out of her underwear as well. She turned back around to face him, he was standing at the edge of the bed, watching her with critical eyes.

She climbed on her bed and tried to make herself comfortable under his intense gaze, it wasn't as easy as she'd hoped. She could feel herself flushing, why had she agreed to this? Oh yeah, naked Sherlock.

She pushed the sleeves of her jumper up, grabbing the vibrator beside her. She closed her eyes, it was easier that way, even if she could still feel him watching her. She brought the smooth plastic to her clit and turn it on.

He watched with rapt fascination as she closed her eyes and brought the device to her opening. Her legs were bent at the knees and spread a decent amount to give him and herself access. She pressed the vibrating machine to the top of her slit, her head throwing back and a small gasp escaping her throat. She was trying to be quiet, afraid of him hearing her, he could tell by the way she was trying to stifle the sounds she made during this routine practice. She moved the device a little, pressing it into her, she bit at her lower lip. She stayed that way for a few moments, living in that pleasure, before moving the blue plastic down to her entrance. She was wet, he knew from a Human Anatomy class he once took that it happened naturally when a woman was sexually stimulated.

She pushed the device into her slick entrance, trying very hard to hold back her amount of noises. He wanted to tell her not to hold back, to just do as she normally would, but he couldn't find it in him to speak. She pushed the little machine in and out of her, making herself even more slippery and glistening. She started going faster and he felt his own breathing accelerate to match her pace, she was biting her lower lip, breathing harshly. He started to feel himself become aroused at the act, something he had not experienced before. This was what she had meant, that he would be ready before she was finished. She was being cheeky and referring to his own arousal from her self-stimulation.

As he watched her pleasure herself, he started to feel the overwhelming desire to be the one sliding in and out of her. He didn't want to be the audience member, he wanted to be the subject. He wanted to slide himself into her warmth and take purchase there.

It was odd, the feeling, he'd never experienced it before. He knew what sex was, he knew that almost everyone had it, but he had just never felt the desire to. He knew it clouded the senses, made people dependent on one another. And up until this point, he honestly never thought twice about abstaining from the sexual act. He was just fine serving himself. But, as he watched Evie build up her own climax – her face flushed, her head thrown back, the moans escaping from her mouth – he wanted to be a part of it.

She let out a loud gasp as she worked herself harder, the sound went straight to his groin. She arched her back up, causing her hips to push down into the mattress, her hips were moving, writhing against her hand. She opened her eyes then, they were half-lidded, glassy, but she met his intense gaze. She bit down on her lower lip hard as she kept his stare, whimpering as she kept going. She was close, he could tell.

He didn't want her to stop, he wanted to keep observing, he was taking notes in his mind, locking this memory away in his mind palace, never to be deleted. He wanted to crawl onto the bed, lay himself over her, and fuck her. He actually wanted to fuck someone. He honestly never thought this moment would come, a part of him was disappointed in himself.

She gave a few thrusts more, keeping her eyes locked to his and came, hard. It was... exhilarating being watched, she'd never even had the thought before, but now that it had happened, she could understand the desire behind it.

She pulled the vibrator from her, turning it off and setting it aside. She was breathing harshly, trying to catch her breath. Her heart thundered in her chest, her body felt uncoiled and loose. She let her legs drop onto the mattress and just laid there, staring at him, waiting for him to do or say something, anything.

He couldn't stop looking at her, at her face, still flush from her climax, at her ocean eyes that were dazed but clear, at the smooth skin of her stomach and hips and legs and the curve of her rear. He couldn't stop seeing her chest rise and fall with labored breathing, wondering what the rest of her smooth skin looked like under her jumper. He wanted to touch her, to feel her, he had never felt this way before. He wasn't entirely sure if he liked it or not.

She finally sat up, pushing back into the pillows, her long legs in front of her. She piled her hair up on the top of her head, using the elastic around her wrist to secure it into a messy bun. She leaned forward, her chest pressing against her thighs, her arms wrapped around her legs, looking at him.

She looked at his intense eyes, they were smoldering. The clear blue of his eyes were darkened, she couldn't read them. But, they made her heart beat faster in her chest. He was flushed a bit, creeping up his neck. She saw the straining in his trousers, she felt herself blush a little at that. She had done that, she had turned on Sherlock Holmes. She could hear Maeve now, laughing and whooping, her face in pure shock and amazement – she'd made the iceman feel. She felt a swell of pride build up in her chest.

He cleared his throat, bringing her gaze back up to his. “Well.” It was silent again, the only thing she could hear was the beating of her heart and the rush in her ears. “That was... educational.” 

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her at that, he joined her after a moment, both just laughing at the sheer craziness of this whole hour. Their laughter died, and just their smiles remained, looking at each other.

“This is ridiculous, isn't it?”

He smiled a bit more at her, “Completely.”

She smiled back at him, her eyes sparkling in a way he hadn't seen before. “Get over here before I have a fit.” She patted the bed beside her.

He took a moment before he descended the bed, coming to sit beside her with his back against the pillows. She turned towards him, angling her body and looking at him fondly. He looked back, glancing over her features.

“You don't seem so embarrassed anymore.”

“Yeah, well, baring yourself to your best friend will do that to a person.”

“You're cheeky post-climax.” A blush stained her cheeks as she looked away from him. “No, don't do that.” He laid a hand on her naked thigh, pushing the spark of desire away, willing her to look at him. “I just watched you touch yourself in a way that could be considered pornographic in nature, you don't ever get you be shy around me any longer.”

She leaned forward a bit, coming closer to his face, her eyes connected with his. There was a small smile on her naturally smirking lips, he wanted to kiss her. That struck him, hard. He had never wanted to kiss anyone before. Even when he'd actually kissed her, he hadn't wanted to. He wanted to now.

“Better?”

He leaned a little closer to her as well, their faces inches apart. She noted the light green parts of his blue eyes that one couldn't see unless they were close up, the length of his light eyelashes. He was beautiful, he truly was. 

He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes still connected, a small smile on his lips. “Much.”

They stayed that way for a moment, Evie's eyes closing, cherishing the stillness of this moment with him. They were never this close, he pushed people away, even her. It was moments like these that she knew how he felt about her. Truly. Yes, she was closer to him than anyone else, but most of the time she felt like his sibling more than his friend – which, from experience with Mycroft showed her that it wasn't great. But, in a moment like this? She knew just how close they actually were. He loved her in some way, even if he didn't want to accept that he had real emotions.

He pulled his head away, not liking the stirring in his chest that the moment with her had caused. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, a smirk hiding it the corners of it.

“If you don't whip that out soon, I might have to leave you here.”

His brows furrowed, “And go where?”

“To get dinner, I'm starving.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Can't you're seven stomachs be contained for one day.”

She pushed at his shoulder for his sarcasm, “Shut up and take your pants off.”

Well, that was certainly something he never thought he'd hear someone say to him. Although, thinking on it, it was exactly something someone would say to him.

He unbuttoned his trousers, pausing momentarily, thinking it over. “Hm. I've only ever done this in the shower – more efficient that way.”

The image of a soaking wet Sherlock entered her mind, the water running over the pale expanse of his body, one arm leaning against the shower wall, the other stroking his length quickly. She wondered if he closed his eyes, what noises he made, what it looked like. Well, she was about to find out.

“Well, by all means, if you want a shower, mine is open.”

He narrowed his gaze at her smirking one. “I'll make due.”

He pushed his pants down to his mid-thigh, his underwear went along with it. He could feel her eyes on him, on his newly exposed skin. It only made his length harder, just being next to her made that happen. He grabbed a hold of himself and breathed in deep through his nose at the contact, this was certainly a new experience.

He was pale, and smooth, she wondered vaguely if his skin was soft there. He was long, although she wasn't exactly sure how long was long, she had never seen another one before, she had nothing to compare it to. Once, Maeve made her watch a porno, they laughed through the whole thing, not finding it the least bit sexy, she had a feeling this was not going to be the case.

He grabbed himself and she heard his intake of breath, it made her lady bits tingle. He started to stoke himself, not particularly fast or hard, just a languid stroke that would build. That certainly wasn't the quick and efficient wank she had been picturing from what he said, but, she wasn't about to complain.

She was still sitting next to him, looking down at him, she couldn't really see his face, which was bothering her. If he was going to do this, she wanted to make sure she took full advantage. She moved from her position beside him, he momentarily stopped and looked at her.

“I'm just getting a better view, carry on.”

He watched as she scooted down the bed, sitting at the end of it, staring at him. He caught a quick peak of her rear, her bits, and legs as she moved, all still bare. He felt a throbbing in his cock at the flash skin he saw from her. He continued to pump his fist, going a little faster, creating a new pace. She was staring between the hand on his length and his face, it was distracting, but neither in a good or bad way.

He closed his eyes and pulled up the fresh memory of her, the way she spread herself for him, how wet she had been, how easy it would be to slip inside her right now. He let out a low rumble from his throat, it wasn't quite a moan, but it was something. He could hear Evie's heart speed up, it was so quiet in the room, in the house, that he could hear all the little things he normally couldn't.

She was enjoying this, she was enjoying watching him get off. For some reason that spurned him on, stroking a bit more intensely, biting the inside of his lip. If she wanted a show, he'd give her one. After the fantastic display she'd put on earlier, he would afford her this.

His head leaned back, exposing his neck, his eyes were closed tightly, his jaw clenched. She had never had more of a problem keeping her hands to herself than in this moment. She wanted to touch him, she wanted to have her hands stroking him, she wanted to lick every pale inch of him. She wanted to climb on top of him right now and ride him as hard as she could. She felt the stirring in her core start back up again, he was turning her on with his display. At this point, she might need another go after he was finished.

It was literally taking all of her will power not to crawl up and take over for him, the desire was so great. The flush was creeping up his neck and over his jaw to his ears, he was breathing harshly, making little panting noises low in his throat. She had felt weird about being vocal with him watching her, she wondered if he felt the same way and was stifling himself, or if he was just quiet.

He opened his eyes then, looking at her as he pumped his fist harder over his hard length, his eyes were dark, stormy, his pupils fully dilated. He had never looked more attractive in all his life, and she'd never wanted to jump him more.

She was panting a bit as she watched him, her lips wet, hanging open just a bit before she'd bite that lower lip of hers. She was subtly twisting her hips, he wasn't even sure she was aware that she was doing it. She was aroused. She was aroused by watching him. The thought made his heart beat quicker.

He kept his strong gaze on her, not stoping the quick pace he had set. His stare seemed to do something to her, her hips twisting more, she bit the inside of her lip. He watched as she reached down under her jumper, touching herself. He groaned. She was touching herself while watching him. He didn't think he had ever been this sexually stimulated in his life, it was sort of fascinating. He pumped his fist harder, needing the release that he was so close to.

She just continued to bite her lower lip, watching him, touching herself. She made a little moaning noise, which was his undoing. He tensed, his lower muscles contracting, he grabbed a tissue from her beside table and came, harder than he ever had before. He gave himself a few strokes for good measure, wiping himself up and throwing the tissue away in the basket beside the bed. He laid back, his breathing still heavy, he closed his eyes to help it regulate. He weakly zipped his trousers back up, laying his hands on his stomach after.

He felt her shift on the bed, coming to lay beside him, on her back. They just laid there for a while, the quietness of the house deafening, roaring in his ears. Her breathing eventually slowed to a normal pace, as did his. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. She was laying on her back, her eyes closed. He noted the way her long lashes fanned out over her cheeks, the red marks on her lower lip from biting it, the way her bottom half was still bare.

She could feel him staring at her, not saying anything, just looking. He did that more often than he realized, she just let him. She responded without opening her eyes. “Let's get dinner now.”

She heard him sigh, and she could feel the roll of his eyes at her statement. “You are aware that pants are mandatory for dinner, correct.”

“I've been made aware, yes.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him, he looked calm, tired almost. She pushed herself into a sitting position and then off the bed entirely – a small feat in itself. “Stop looking at my ass.”

“You have a fine... rear.”

She couldn't help but laugh and look over her shoulder at him, “Thanks. Yours isn't so bad yourself.”

He turned and tried to look at his own behind, his brows furrowed. She wasn't sure if this whole situation was actually funny, or she was just delirious at this point. She kept laughing as she pulled on her leggings, coming around the other side of the bed to haul him up so they could go eat.


	5. Chapter 5

He watched the way she read the textbook in front of her, jotting down notes that they'd use for the test later in the week. Her lower lip jutted out while she was thinking, pouted perfectly while she read. The light from the kitchen window shone down on her blonde hair, making the honey color shine brighter. She was focussed, her brows furrowed lightly, the wide ocean expanse of her eyes taking in every word.

He wasn't stupid enough to pretend she wasn't attractive – she was, had always been. He knew what modern social standards of conventional beauty were and he knew that she fit the mold of those standards, he also knew that there were parts of her that he couldn't figure out. One of them happened to be why he found her beautiful and what about her drew him in.

He didn't think people to be attractive or beautiful. He could recognize those qualities in people, but he didn't acknowledge them. He couldn't.

And yet, he could in her.

Did it bother him that she somehow managed to be the exception to his rule? Yes. It did.

But, he couldn't help that he found her alluring. He always had, she'd always managed to charm him somehow. He was convinced that was the only way she'd weaseled herself into his life as snuggly as she'd had. 

Yet, what was it about her that was so charming, or alluring? What made her beautiful to him? Why did he put up with her rule breaking and rule making?

It was something he'd been attempting to figure out for the past five years. He could deduce her as easily as others, and yet, sometimes he couldn't. Sometimes, he couldn't read her at all. So, the question remained unanswered. The results were inconclusive and needed further analysis, he decided.

He let his gaze sweep over her once more, her cupid's bow lips, her straight nose, the fine arch of her brow, the light dusting of freckles that hadn't completely faded in childhood, the ocean depths of her eyes. He was cold and calculating, but she pulled out the poetic side in him, the musical part that didn't often rear itself. He wasn't quite sure if he hated her or not for that.

He certainly hated her for pulling out a side of him he thought he'd managed to get rid of. But, he could admit, that hadn't been entirely her fault, he had initiated it with his need to know everything. He could've just as easily looked it up, but the source had been standing there and he saw no reason why not. Until he was then thrust into something he hadn't been prepared for, felt things he had never aimed to feel, acted in ways that were a bit foreign to him. All because he'd rifled through her belongings and found something interesting.

He had never thought of her in that light before, never thought of her as a sexual being, as a woman. Because she wasn't, she was Evie, his annoying neighbor girl and confidant. She wasn't meant to be sexualized, she wasn't suppose to be anything more. And yet, somehow he'd managed to make her more.

The look on her face haunted him at night when he closed his eyes, even with her so near. The look in those sea glass eyes was somehow managing to undo him, slowly. He couldn't bring himself to delete the memory. Something about that seemed too final, like they were parting ways, which they weren't.

Instead, he'd just filed it into her room, closing the door and not touching it. It didn't help that she enjoyed bringing it up from time to time. And each time, she found pleasure and amusement in his reaction to it.

Mycroft sighed as he sat at the end of the kitchen table, stirring his tea with one hand and read a book in his other, effectively drawing his attention back to the task at hand. He was their current tutor – finding himself annoyingly thoroughly sufficient in that title. Sherlock thought he just liked to use that against him. He couldn't actually complain though, seeing as it was his fault for their need to be home schooled at all.

They had went to primary school just like everyone else, going all the way until secondary started. At age fifteen, their second year of secondary, Sherlock had gotten suspended for being generally insufferable and then was sequentially kicked out – causing them to need a home tutor. Them, because where Sherlock went, Evie was soon to follow. She had stayed in school for a while after, but as soon as the new year started, she asked to be home tutored with Sherlock. Mycroft assumed the position as their tutor readily, being the smartest person in the room on hand and available. They didn't even have to pay him.

No, really, he just took his payment in gloating rights.

Sherlock returned to his schoolwork, at least Mycroft had the decency to challenge him, the school certainly never had. But, it still didn't change the fact that he hated doing mindless work in a subject that bored him. He didn't take being bored well, literally anyone could tell that.

But, he returned to the work he was doing, refraining from looking back over at Evie and attempting to deduce how a girl managed to make the high functioning sociopath feel anything at all. It was a mystery for the ages, good thing Sherlock was good at solving mysteries.

-0-0-

 

It had been three months.

Three months since that strange friday night where Sherlock had failed to pick her up from dance, where she'd found him sitting in her room, where the most bizarre thing ever to have happen to her happened. Three months since she had bared herself to her best friend and he had done the same. Was it odd that neither of them were particularly embarrassed by it? Well, she was embarrassed – because, that was fucking embarrassing. But, she wasn't exactly what she'd call mortified about the situation.

She supposed it was more of a something you couldn't un-see, and something she didn't want to un-see. Something she couldn't take back if she'd wanted, which she didn't want to. She felt free in a sense, she felt like something had shifted slightly between them. For better or for worse, it happened and there was nothing they could do about it now. 

She had seen Sherlock in the buff and it had been downright magical.

She hadn't told anyone – and by anyone she was of course referring to her only friend Maeve – she and Sherlock hadn't even discussed it. They didn't acknowledge it, never referring to it, all lock and key business. It was like their biggest secret, just waiting to be uncovered. Mycroft gave them that look sometimes, the look that meant he speculated something and was just waiting on the hard facts before divulging. They ignored it.

That was, until two weeks ago.

They had been arguing over something stupid and ridiculous and not worth their time, Evie wasn't sure why she'd brought it up, but she had. He'd looked at her horrified for a moment, a very small flush finding it's way over his neck, before everything was replaced by that very controlled cool calmness that he'd learned from Mycroft. Their fight was over and she'd won. 

She couldn't keep the smirk off her mouth if she'd tried.

From then on she brought it up more casually, just to see that delightful flush along the pale expanse of his neck. It was empowering and maybe slightly cruel, but she didn't care. She was so use to Sherlock having all the power, being the smartest one in the room at all times gave him that natural advantage, but now she had something to hang over his head. 

She wasn't actually sure if he was embarrassed by the act itself or more of the notion that someone other than them might be aware of it. It was a mystery that was haunting her. But, as long as she got to see that delightful swoon-worthy flush across the slightly freckled skin of his body, she'd manage never knowing.

Presently they were seated in the kitchen, well, she was seated. She had basically blackmailed Sherlock into making her lunch, mostly to see if he would – also because she was really quite hungry. That was one of the things about Sherlock that he kept locked away, claiming he knew nothing of the sort. He was a pretty good cook. Inherited from his father – she was sure.

Violet was good in the kitchen herself, and on more than one occasion during the week she made the family dinner. But, it was more often than not William who took the reins when it came to food. He was practically a culinary wizard, making anything from a simple Egg's Benedict to pastries and all that's in between. The oldest Holmes had claimed more than once that cooking had been his true passion, but his parents hadn't thought it would sustain him in the future, so into teaching he went. William always chuckled about it and stated that it all worked out in the end since he managed to find something he was more passionate about – that being Violet. 

The older woman always just rolled her eyes playfully and swatted away William's advances. But, Evie could see the love between them, she could see how much they truly cared for one another. Which is what always made her wonder how they ended up with Mycroft and Sherlock – the two oddest boy's she'd surely ever meet in her life.

They didn't fit their parents in the slightest, and on more than one occasion in their youth Evie had questioned whether or not the Stork had dropped them off at the wrong house.

Neither Holmes boy had been very amused. 

She looked back to the Sherlock, moving around his kitchen with a feline grace she'd yet to see anyone else manage. He wasn't making anything particularly taxing, just scrambled eggs and toast, but he was sighing like she'd asked him to prepare her a four course dinner. But he was doing it – which surprised her more than anything.

They were close. They'd always been close. He had been bending his own rules for her for as long as he'd made her play by them. Their friendship wasn't always easy, and it wasn't always kind, but in other ways it was extraordinary. And consistent.

They got along, they fought, they ignored one another, they fought again, they got along. It was the story of their lives and they didn't seem to be able to change it, only add to the growing list of consistencies. Evie wasn't going to lie and pretend that she didn't hope what they'd done in her room three months ago wouldn't become a part of their cycle. She certainly hoped it did.

Thinking about Sherlock always managed to give her a headache, especially when thoughts like these wouldn't leave her be: sometimes she wondered if she clung to Sherlock for the simple reason of him being there – because he'd always been there. He had been beside her for a very long time and his family was arguably the most stable relationship she'd ever had. 

Her parents were never around, but working for the World Bank and being a Prima Ballerina for the Royal Ballet they had their excuses, and meant them. They'd left her in the care of neighbors, which was admittedly better than the nanny's they use to hire. But it was clear that they were not fantastic role models for her, no, that had always been the Holmes.

It did leave her to wonder if her feelings for Sherlock, those deep-rooted feelings she kept locked away for him, were actually real or a side affect of a kind of Stockholm Syndrome that may have developed. It made her dizzy to think about too much.

With a huff, Sherlock set down the plate in front of her, turning to grab his own plate before he sat down across from her. He looked disgruntled, but unscathed as he jammed his toast.

“This looks great.” She cooed, smiling at him in that way that made him roll his eyes. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

“That's the last unreturned favor you're getting out of me for a while.” He replied, sipping his coffee. He never said anything about their breakfast for lunch, he never even batted an eye. Maybe he didn't realize how late in the day it was, which really wouldn't be all that shocking seeing as Sherlock was the most observant/unobservant person she'd ever met.

Evie scoffed, “Unreturned favor?” She eyed him. “I'm pretty sure you owe me an unprecedented amount of favors for letting you satisfy your curiosity about female masturbation techniques.”

There was no way she'd ever say those kinds of things if anyone else had been home – but they weren't, thankfully. Mycroft had left for work hours ago, their tutoring over for the day, and both Violet and William were at work. Sherlock just looked at her as though she'd slapped him, eyes all wide and focused on his eggs, his jaw clenched.

She began to eat her eggs, a smirk settling on her features as she watched that delightful flush begin to form on his pale skin. But, in all honesty, the best part of this right now was the fact that Sherlock was actually eating. He tended to shy away from food when he was on a case – much to his mother's annoyance, and Mycroft's – which of course left him a little gaunt and underfed looking. 

He began to silently eat his breakfast food, seemingly ignoring her. They were about to get in a fight again, she could tell, but that didn't stop her from opening her mouth. It never did.

“Oh, come on, Sherlock. I was just teasing.” She said sweetly, sipping at her water.

His cool eyes came up to meet hers, his expression unreadable. She hated when he did that, maybe that's why he did it. “Did I say something was wrong?” He countered.

Evie shrugged a shoulder, “You just seem to get touchy about it whenever I bring it up.”

“Perhaps it's your continence of bringing it up that bothers me.”

“Well,” She started, keeping his gaze. “Is it?”

He was silent for a moment as he looked at her. “The world may never know.”

“Oh my god, come on.” She rolled her eyes, “Can you ever give me a straight answer?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes as well, “I answer your multitude of questions daily, I do think I'm warranted the choice to not once in an eon or so.”

“Oh, please. You never answer my questions, you just scoff at me and talk about my intelligence before having to prove your point and explain everything. That's not answering a question, Sherlock, that's being a know it all.”

“Well, I am a know it all. A proud one.” He replied matter of factly.

“Alright, then.” Evie started, setting down her silverware. “What show am I auditioning for next week?”

“Excuse me?” His brows furrowed in confusion.

“What show am I auditioning for? If you're a know it all, then my questions shouldn't be too difficult to answer.”

He glared a her for a moment and she knew he was attempting to deduce it out of her. If he could figure out what show they were putting on at the studio based on her alone, that would be pretty impressive. But, all he had to do was think about it, because she had told him earlier in the week. Which of course meant he was never going to guess it.

“Give up yet?” She countered. 

He just titled his head and gave her that look that meant he found her extremely annoying. She was use to it by now. “No.”

“Then, what is it?”

He looked her over again, taking in her crossed arms, her pursed lips, the glint in her eyes. He sighed defeatedly, “I don't know.”

“How long does it take Jupiter to orbit the sun?” She continued on.

He heaved an annoyed sigh, “You know very well that I do not enjoy space or find it important.”

“But, if you're a know it all, shouldn't you know it all?” He just glared at her. “Almost twelve years.” She answered, keeping his glare. “What are the three parts that make up Parliament?”

Sherlock just leaned back in his chair, mirroring her position with his arms crossed over his chest, “You've made your point, Evie. Drop it.”

His tone held no room for argument, which annoyed her, but her traitorous body also found it appealing. “Well, I'm just saying, as a self-proclaimed know it all, maybe you should actually know it all.”

“I know you're insufferable.” He countered, his tone annoyed. “I know that you enjoy ridiculing me because it makes you feel as though you have an advantage. I know that when you went out with the Ellison girl last night, you consumed one alcoholic beverage that contained one part vodka, two parts soda – most likely Lilt because you're practically certifiably insane for drinking that crap. I also know that it takes you no more than sixteen minutes to fall asleep when your pattern is normal, twelve if you're extremely tired and twenty-four if something's been plaguing your mind.”

She tried not to let the flush show, but she knew it was impossible. She'd just gotten Sherlocked, and it oddly felt embarrassing and great at the same time. “Well, you certainly know a lot about me.” She worried the inside of her bottom lip through her teeth, keeping his sharp gaze because she wouldn't back down.

“I know many of things.” Was his only reply.

“Okay, I get the point. Now, drop it.” She quirked a brow at using his own words against him.

They kept their stare for a few moments longer before slowly returning to their meals. Evie couldn't help the swell in her chest, though. Sherlock knew almost everything about her, things she could only hope anyone else she ever dated or eventually married would know – and also hopefully not throw in her face like he did – but she knew they never would. Sherlock was special, and it annoyed her. But, she also loved him for it.

She took a piece of her egg and catapulted it at him. The small, spongey piece of breakfast food hit him in the temple and bounced onto the table. He just brought up his gaze to her's and quirked a brow at her antics, she shrugged a shoulder and tried to hold back a smirk. “That's for being a prick.”

He said nothing in return and just shook his head. That's pretty much how their day usually went.

-0-0-

He sat outside her rehearsal space, relishing the silence as they were not in the same large studio they usually occupied. Apparently they were rehearsing in the auditorium and though he could go in there if he chose, he decided against walking all the way down there and waited in his usual spot in the hallway outside of the large studio where her rehearsal usually resided. It hadn't taken long for the girls to start wandering back into the hallway, all talking and laughing, eyeing him as they always did. And he ignored them, as he always did.

He heard her before he saw her, turning to look down the hall, he saw her walking with the girl Maeve that she was fond of and a smaller girl that he couldn't bother to recall the name of. She kept walking as the two girls stopped at their station to collect their belongings, and made her way over to him. She crouched down and picked up her things, slip on her shoes, not even bothering to put her pants back on or change before she stood and looked down at him impatiently. He quirked a brow, but said nothing and stood with her. 

She was in nothing more than the black leotard that every other female in her class bore and tights, her bag around her shoulders, a sweater crushed under her arm. He let his gaze sweep her momentarily as they walked the hallway, her breasts were unbound in the stretchy material, he could see the swell of them peaking through the scoop-neck of her top. She was practically bare in the skin tight material, he couldn't help the image of her pale skin flashing across his vision, even as he tried to push it away. He had the urge to examine the rest of her, the parts that had been hidden beneath her jumper, he wanted to see her, see all of her. They walked out to the car in silence, he lit a cigarette, she bit the inside of her lip, neither saying a word until he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

She sighed finally, “Well, that was dreadful.”

“Oh, you're speaking now?” He drawled out lazily as he smoked his cigarette, the slight whistle from the cracked window grating her nerves.

She shot him a look that he only pretended not to see out the corner of his eye. “Pause the attitude, I'm not in the mood.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and tossed out his finished cigarette, rolling up the window. They kept driving in silence for a while longer until Evie couldn't take it anymore and blurted it out. “I'm Sleeping Beauty.”

His brows furrowed, “Excuse me?”

Evie just rolled her eyes, “I told you last week that there were auditions for the show, really the fact that you can be this smart and hear nothing is astounding. But, I got it. I got Sleeping Beauty.”

“In the show, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Yes.”

He chanced a look over to her then, brows still furrowed. She looked tired, sullen even. “Shouldn't you be... overjoyed? Or something?”

Evie sighed again. “I was – I would've been – but, the other girls, they don't think I came by it “fairly”. Apparently they think I've only gotten the role because of my mother, not because I auditioned well or am suited for it.”

“And, that's making you unhappy about the news?” He asked unsure of why she cared what others thought. He certainly didn't.

“Yes, Sherlock. It is.”

He scoffed, “I don't see why you give any ounce of concern over what those girls think of you. If you got the role because of your mother, than so be it. But, if you know that wasn't the reason, don't let foolish slags like them cause you to be unhappy.”

Evie looked at him silently, taking it all that he'd said. It was times like these that she realized just how apt Sherlock really was, and why she loved to be around him.

“Thanks.” She muttered, leaning against the window. The quiet between them was comfortable and soothing, she'd almost managed to close her eyes when her phone vibrated on her lap. It was a text from Maeve, she looked over at Sherlock, wondering what his response would be. “Hey, Maeve's band is playing in London tonight, any chance you'd want to go?”

He glanced over at her leaning against the door, her body somehow angled towards him and also curled in on itself. He noted the way her nipples had peaked from the chill because of her rushed refusal to put on her street clothes. Her eyes looked a tad hopeful for his response, but mostly she looked as though she anticipated his resounding no. He never liked to do what people expected of him, perhaps that's why he said yes, that's what he'd tell himself anyway.

“Fine.”

Her head whipped back to look at him, her brows furrowed. “Are you sick?” She asked skeptically as she reached over to feel his forehead. Her cool hands sent an odd shiver over his skin and he pushed her off of him and sighed. 

“Do you not want me to go?”

“No!” She said quickly, “I do, I just... didn't think you'd say yes. You're not really a group setting kind of guy.”

He rolled his eyes, “I can be charming when I want to be.”

It was true, he could. He had begun to perfect the normal, charming facade that usually got him what he wanted from people. He wasn't able to keep it projected around his family very well, they mostly irked him to his core and knew him too well for him to keep it up. Evie was included in that statement, outside of Mycroft she held the title for person who caused the most eye rolls from him.

“Oh, I know. It's downright freaky to see.” She looked back up at him through her lashes a begging smile on her lips. “So, should I tell Maeve we'll be attending.”

“I already said yes.”

She smiled and began to type back her friend, going on about what they should wear after getting the information of what club they would be attending. Sherlock was almost positive he had just gotten himself into something he'd most definitely regret later, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He sighed, this was going to be an interesting night.


	6. Chapter 6

She was bouncing on the balls of her feet as they stood in line, attempting to look over the the heads of the people in front of them. He just rolled his eyes and ignored her as he typed away on his mobile. They had went home after picking her up from dance, ate dinner, and dressed quickly before heading out to Maeve's show.

 

Sherlock was dressed as usual, slacks that somehow looked both dressy and casual – but, that might've been because she was so use to seeing him in them – a button down of the pastel colored variety and his thick duster peacoat. It wasn't cold enough for his usual scarf, but she was sure he would've sported one had it been.

 

He had only eyed her briefly before promptly ignoring her as was customary in their relationship. He said nothing as they found a decent parking spot and walked the few blocks to the _Barracuda_ , one of London's top clubs for indie artists or kids just looking to play. Maeve's band, Hollies Go Lightly, an empowering all female grunge-pop-punk band played the _Barracuda_ pretty frequently, Evie had been out to see her a few times, but this was Sherlock's first appearance.

 

She wouldn't let herself entertain the thought for long, but she couldn't help but think that one of the reasons he agreed to accompany her tonight had to do with their odd, undiscussed, sexual attraction. Evie didn't like to think on it often, mostly because she always walked away feeling empty afterward, but she couldn't help the niggling sensation that Sherlock maybe felt something towards her aside from comfortable indifference.

 

He treated her differently and the same as everyone else, but, there was just something she couldn't put her finger on in the way he looked at her sometimes, in the way he spoke or in the things he said. Their secret silent “experiment” just put those thoughts over the edge. She'd always had feelings for Sherlock, she'd just never entertained the idiotic notion that he may have feelings for her back. Mostly because she liked her life the way it was without the soul crushing despair she would feel if he didn't feel the same.

 

He huffed from beside her and shifted as the line moved, they approached the door and held out their IDs and hands to the bouncer who looked them both up and down. Sherlock watched as the bouncer's eyes raked over him first, then Evie, eyeing her exposed legs and flushed cheeks in a way that made Sherlock narrow his eyes. It was easy to read the older man, _unmarried_ , _unhappy_ , _willing_. The bouncer handed back their IDs, Sherlock swiping his quickly, causing Evie too look up at him with a look that very clearly read, _Don't._

 

“You look older than your ID.” The bouncer commented, holding out his hand for Evie's. “Who're you trying to impress? Not this guy, I hope.”

 

Evie chuckled in that way she always managed when she was both uncomfortable and polite, it caused him to scoff from beside her, which triggered an elbow to his ribs. “Thanks, I get that sometimes.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, she never got that, she was lying for the sake of being polite. He didn't understand people's inability to tell the truth in a social setting. This whole experience was already leaving him irked and the desire to call his dealer was weighing heavily on his mind.

 

The bouncer just smirked at her and marked her fist with an _X_ to imply their underage-ness to the world. Maeve promised Sherlock not to worry about it, they always served regardless. Sherlock held his fist out expectantly, the bouncer eyeing him and smirked before marking his hand as well. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the older man, incapable of not saying something to him.

 

“Perhaps you should try hitting on women within your own age range, instead of preying on young women of whom you know are under the legal age limit. I'm sure you'd rather not add statutory to your long list of drunk and disorderlys.”

 

The bouncer stood from his chair, jaw set, dark eyes narrowed, Sherlock only raised a brow. Evie's distinctly uncomfortable laugh cut between them and he found her pushing him through the door of the club before he could do anything stupid. He shrugged her off him once they entered the establishment and made his way straight towards the bar.

 

Evie just sighed as she pushed her way through the crowd and looked around for Maeve. The dark haired girl was helping set up on stage, looking so in place here, surrounded by people dressed like her at the bar. Evie wondered if she looked out of place in jumper covered her skater dress and tights, while Maeve sported ripped jeans and a tight top, she didn't really care if she did.

 

“Maeve!”

 

Her head shot up over the loud music of the club, squealing in delight and eyes lighting up at the sight of Evie. “Oh, thank god you made it!” She jumped off the stage, pulling Evie into a hug before ushering her over to the bar, not too far down from where Sherlock was smoking a cigarette and sipping at a pint casually. “I have someone I want you to meet.” Maeve sang song.

 

“What?” Evie looked around with wide eyes, “No, no, no, not again, Maeve.”

 

The last time Maeve had set her up with one of her friends from outside their group, it hadn't ended particularly well. The boy had been nice, the date fine, but he had been more Maeve's speed than her own. They hadn't had much in common, the biggest difference between them was the very obvious fact that he dated quite often while she barely ever dated at all. Apparently it was incredibly obvious how nubile she was at the whole dating scene, which was embarrassing. She had ended up embarrassing herself in front of Mark and never heard from him again – which, wasn't really a surprise.

 

It was safe to say she was a bit skeptical about another one of Maeve's set ups. It must've showed in her reaction because the dark haired girl rolled her eyes. “Come on,” Maeve smiled in that cheeky way of her's that usually worked on Evie the majority of the time. “He's nice, charming, fuckable, and most importantly – normal.”

 

Evie ignored the pointed look at the end of that sentence. Maeve was on her case more often than not about Sherlock and their never ending back and forth of unanswered emotions. It was mostly what kept Evie from telling her about the “experiment” with Sherlock, she knew Maeve wouldn't get it. She wanted Evie to just tell Sherlock already or move on from him, she didn't understand their dynamic, she didn't get their friendship. It was fine, Evie didn't ask her to. But, it more often than not put her in slightly uncomfortable situations regarding _normal_ eligible bachelors.

 

But, so what if Sherlock wasn't normal? What was _normal_ anyway?

 

Evie just sighed and looked over in the direction Maeve was nodding and at the man in question. He was leaning against the end of the bar, talking to a few of his friends it seemed, casually, normally. He was tall, lean, with broad shoulders and a head full of thick dark hair, his smile was nice and wide as he laughed along with his friends, his light eyes crinkling with mirth and charm. He was cute. He was normal. He... looked oddly like an alternate dimension Sherlock.

 

Did she have a type?

 

Was oddly handsome, tall, and dark haired her type?

 

Oh, god. Was Sherlock her actual type?

 

She let out a breath and looked back to Maeve's bright smile and expectant gaze. “Well?” She questioned. “What do you think?”

 

Evie looked back over at the real Sherlock down the bar, ignoring everyone around him as he typed furiously on his mobile, cigarette just casually hanging from his lips, brows furrowed. She felt that small swooshing in her stomach as she looked at him. Would she always feel this way about him? Would her unreturned feelings always linger, her everlasting crush ever fade?

 

“Let me check on Sherlock before I wander off with his doppelganger.” She gave Maeve that look, the one that said she knew what the other girl was up to.

 

Maeve just shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I have no idea what that's suppose to mean.”

 

Evie rolled her eyes and went over to Sherlock, pushing through people to get to his side of the bar. “Hey.” She said as she sidled up next to him.

 

He brought his gaze up from his phone, looking down at her and pulling the cigarette from his mouth to rest between his long fingers. God, why did he have to be so attractive.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Maeve's gonna be up soon.” She wasn't sure why that was what she said, but, she just rolled with it.

 

“Wonderful.”

 

His curt replies as he scanned the room around them weren't out of place, but for some reason were grating her nerves tonight. He tapped lightly at the edge of the bar to get the keep's attention and refill his glass, not even making eye contact with the girl. Her brows furrowed at him as she watched his moves.

 

“You don't have to be so rude, Sherlock.”

 

His eyes narrowed at her as the pretty girl behind the bar refilled his pint, picking up the fresh drink and sipping it carefully as he watched her. “I'm no more rude than usual.”

 

Evie rolled her eyes, “Well, maybe you should try and be less rude.” She took the glass from his hand and took a sip herself before giving it back. “Like the bouncer, you didn't have to say those things out loud. It's like you want to get into a fight.”

 

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Please. It wouldn't have even been a fight.”

 

“That's not the point.” She said, crossing her arms. “It's like you can't be normal for even a moment out of the day, you just _have_ to be rude and right and in charge of everything. I bet that if you had to act normal for the rest of the night, you would faint from the effort.”

 

She wasn't entirely sure where her spout of righteous indignation came from, why she had tapped into her personal hot spring of attitude, but she was glaring at him with a look that read of annoyance at his actions. He was use to it, she knew, which is why she was surprised that this time it phased him when she was so use to it not.

 

His ocean eyes narrowed at her, his jaw clenched. “You don't think I can be normal.” He sounded genuinely offended, which caused a small spike in guilt. She pushed it away.

 

“No.” She stated. “I'm pretty sure that being normal for the whole night would actually kill you.”

 

The look he gave her was both determined and a bit angry as he drained the rest of his glass and set it back on the bar, leaning into her space their faces close. She could see the odd flecks of bright green in his blue eyes, the light lashes that fanned out above them. “You're on.”

 

“What?” She asked confusingly as she leaned back from him, but he was already scoping out the girls around the bar.

 

“You heard me, Evie. You don't think I can act like every other man in this establishment for the rest of the night, I'm going to prove you wrong.”

 

Her stomach dropped a bit, she hadn't mean to actually bet him, she just wanted him to be a little less rude to everyone, to lighten up. Now he was smiling at the bartender with that fake, charming smile of his, the slightly narrowed eyes giving him that smirky expression. He was so obviously handsome, and girls always looked at him, but he never noticed or cared which was what comforted her at night. But, now? Now was her worst nightmare come to life right in front of her.

 

She pushed the uneasy feeling bubbling up her throat down, she wouldn't let him affect her this way. If he wanted a game, she would play. He wasn't the only one with a stubborn streak, after all.

 

“Hi.” The pretty dark haired bartender came back over to him now that he was smiling at her, her perky tits pushed up and overflowing from her top. “What can I get ya?”

 

Sherlock leaned across the bar, smirking at the girl, his eyes scanning her face in that intimate way he was prone to do, only now that the narrowed eyes and scowl was removed it seemed far more inviting than usual. “Well, your name for starters.”

 

The pretty bartender smirked back and leaned into the bar, pushing those damn tits up even farther, causing Evie to grit her teeth. “Katie.”

 

“ _Katie_.” He uttered in that sinfully deep voice of his that he was _so_ playing up right now. “A vodka neat would be lovely.”

 

Katie smiled coyly and nodded, probably thinking about how she'd like to make Sherlock anything but neat right about now. “Coming right up.”

 

She stepped away to make Sherlock's drink and he turned back towards her, the facade dropped, the slight anger back in his eyes as he looked at her. “I don't think I'm dead yet.” He spoke, reusing her own words against her.

 

“Well, it hasn't actually been the whole night yet.” She said a bit stiffly before turning and walking back down the bar where Maeve was talking with the doppelganger, not wanting to see Sherlock flirt with the pretty _Katie_ again.

 

She came to stand next to Maeve, smiling at the group of people she stood with. “There you are, guys this is Evie.”

 

“Hey.” She smiled a bit and waved her hand at the group.

 

The doppelganger's hand shot out for her to grasp, a cute side-smile on his lips. “Hey, I'm Greg.”

 

She took his hand, ignoring Maeve's wide smile from beside her. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“Likewise.” He smiled. “So, Maeve talks about you constantly, you two dance together?”

 

“Yeah.” Evie nodded, gesturing towards the girl beside her. “We've known each other for a long time. How do you two know each other?”

 

“Oh, Greg works here during the week, it's how we met. But, he's also at Uni studying theatre.” Maeve was still smiling wide and weird at the two of them.

 

“Oh, thanks Maeve, but I'm sure he can tell me.” Evie patted her friend on the arm.

 

Greg chuckled and was about to respond when a loud cheer over took the room and drew all their attention behind them down the bar. Evie looked over her shoulder to find Sherlock downing shots with the bartender, a crowd of girls chirping and guys cheering, clapping him on the back. He started high-fiving people, throwing a pointed smile her way as he suddenly became the most popular person in the room.

 

“Yo, what is he doing?” Maeve asked, brows furrowed.

 

Evie just sighed, more than a little annoyed. “I accidentally made him a bet and he's taking it way too seriously.” She turned back to Greg, the doppelganger and smiled a bit. “Anyway, you were saying?”

 

He smiled down at her in that cute side-smile she was quickly noticing was his normal smile. She asked him about theatre and he asked her about dance, Maeve's band started and they were sucked into the set. Evie couldn't help but glance over at Sherlock, smirking at a girl as he smoked another cigarette and ignored her. Well, she could just as easily avoid him too.

 

Greg leaned over and shouted in her ear, “Wanna dance?” She couldn't've asked for better timing.

 

She smiled, taking off her jumper and taking his hand, following him out into the crowd of people in front of the stage. Some were dancing along with the music, others just stood and watched, but the atmosphere was pleasant and the vibe light and she laughed as he spun her around. It was nice. It was fun, it was pleasant. She realized she was also speaking of Greg when using those adjectives.

 

Maybe Maeve had been right, maybe she did need to be around other people to really get a perspective.

 

But, Sherlock's face kept popping up in her mind. Whatever they were, it wasn't finished. It hadn't even really begun. She owed it to him to try and play it out – even if he was oblivious to what was happening. Doppelganger Greg was lovely, and given different circumstances, she may have even chosen him. But, right now, her heart and head would choose Sherlock, every time.

 

She could feel his gaze on her as she danced, as she laughed and smiled up at the handsome boy in front of her. She knew that she was playing fire with fire, but, she couldn't help herself. If he wanted to pretend like he was someone he was not, than so could she. And right now, she was perfectly content playing the role of normal teenage girl.

 

She didn't see Sherlock's furrowed brow or downturned mouth, didn't see that calculating look in his ocean colored eyes. He couldn't even see them himself, but, he knew they were there. As he looked upon her dancing with the painfully average boy, he felt an odd heaviness in his chest that he couldn't quite place. He was unsure of what it meant, unsure of why he felt annoyed watching her be so carefree and happy while he was empty at the bar.

 

Playing pretend was just that – playing pretend. None of it was real, not the smiles, or the smirks, not his false words or chuckles of laughter. Not a single ounce of this night since taking that bet had been real. With the exception of the emotions he was feeling right now.

 

Evie was real. She made him real.

 

He knew that he didn't need to pretend with her, so he didn't. She was family – whatever that word actually entailed, because he was still uncertain himself – but, that's what she was. She had been around long enough to see him as he was, without pretenses or false niceties. Mycroft often said he took that for granted. Sherlock couldn't see why, Evie would always be around, that was just her nature. He had never thought of her leaving because she had never left. She had been on and off staying with him, in his space, in his house, since she was a small child. She showed no signs of ever leaving, of ever parting from him, and he had come to acknowledge that it wasn't something he was totally opposed to.

 

He had become use to having someone in his life that looked after him the way she did. An almost guardian, a supervisor, a confidant, a helper, a... friend. Sherlock didn't have friends, but he did have Evie.

 

His eyes sought her out again, she was in the middle of the dance floor, Ellison smiling down at her from where she was singing on stage, being twirled relentlessly by the boring fellow she had chosen to dance with, her head thrown back in laughter as she partook in carefree “bad dancing” as she enjoyed calling it. She usually only partook when she was at home – or with Ellison – yet, here she was, being careless and free with some _boy_ who was inconsequential.

 

The misplaced anger he felt found its way into his jaw, which was clenched tight as he watched her through narrowed eyes. He lit up a cigarette, attractively chain-smoking in his annoyance. He could hear her voice in his head – _Sherlock, put down the cigarette and chew some gum, your obsessive tendencies are exhausting me._

 

He scoffed and took a long drag, watching her. He turned his back to her, leaning against the bar with haunched shoulders, scrolling through his mobile. That odd heavy feeling would not subside from his chest, the anger in his jaw not abating. He quickly shot out a text and continued to smoke until the response came through. He stood from the bar, throwing down some money before making his way towards the exit of the club.

 

Evie looked around for him after a whole, not feeling his piercing gaze, not seeing him at the bar. She was a little concerned, only because she cared for him, not because he was incapable. Greg was charming, and sweet, making her laugh and have a good time. But, she couldn't stop those pesky thoughts about Sherlock from entering her head. Where the hell was he?

 

She texted him – _Hey, where are you?-E_

 

But, he hadn't answered.

 

Eventually Maeve's set ended, another band setting up to take their place. The girls broke down, Evie and Greg generously helping them clear the stage. She couldn't help but look around the room every time she was up there, trying to scope out any sign of tall, curly hair or a annoyed look on pale skin. So far, she'd come up empty handed and it worried her slightly.

 

She turned to the dark haired girl rolling up cables beside the stage, “Maeve. Have you seen Sherlock anywhere?”

 

The girl shook her head, “Nah, I haven't seen him for a while.”

 

Evie sighed and looked around, Greg looking at her as he stood between her and Maeve. She sort of felt bad for kind of leading him on. “Alright, I'm gonna go look for him.”

 

“Whose, Sherlock?” He asked, interested in the odd name.

 

“He's, uh,” Evie wasn't entirely sure how to explain Sherlock in one phrase. “My best friend. Outside of Maeve.” She added quickly, throwing a smile over at the other girl, who just rolled her eyes.

 

“Gotcha.” Greg nodded, focusing instead on the wires he was coiling.

 

“I'll be back.” She stated, moving out into the crowd to look for him. She didn't see him at the bar, he wasn't mingling in the crowd as another band started up their set. She moved towards the bathrooms, pushing through the heavy door that lead to the hallway of the restrooms. It was quieter in the hallway, the swinging door blocking out a lot of the sound from the bar. It was a tad darker too, giving it a more soothing quality than outside.

 

There were two bathrooms, both unisex single stalls. She hated bathrooms like these, there were always long lines and sort of filthy from all genders using them. If he wasn't outside, or had headed out, this was the only other place he could be.

 

She tried the one door, which gave easily, which implied it's emptiness. The other was locked, indicating the presence of someone inside. She rapped her knuckles on the door, listening, but she heard nothing. She tried again, still nothing.

 

She dug her phone out of her purse, clicking his contact and waiting for the ring. She heard it. The ring coming from the bathroom, her hear pressed up against the door. The clamminess took over her in an instant, she could feel her face both simultaneously draining of color and heating up with anger.

 

He ignore her call, letting it go to voicemail, but she already caught him. She knew he was in there.

 

She banged hard on the door, her anger overtaking her. “Sherlock!” She yelled, “Open the damn door. Now.”

 

There was no noise on the other side and he made no move to unlock the door. She banged against it harder, repeatedly, until he opened it. By the time the door swung open, her hand and knuckles were red and slightly raw, but she didn't feel it through her rage.

 

He stood before her almost casually, looking down at her with glassy eyes and a blank face. Her jaw was wired tight, her angry eyes staring up at him. The sounds of an acoustic-ish version of _The Cardigans_ song _Lovefool_ was being played by the new band, the loud sounds of the soft, melodic voice of the male lead singer reverberated through the hallway around them. If she wasn't so angry she might've scoffed at how fitting it was.

 

_Love me, love me... say that you love me_

 

He said nothing as he looked down at her, there was no look in his eyes, no shame, no embarrassment, no anything.

 

_Fool me, fool me... go on and fool me_

 

She felt her hands ball into fists at her side, her nails biting into the tender flesh of the inside of her hand. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hit him so badly.

 

_Love me, love me... pretend that you love me_

 

He had promised. He had promised all of them. She had thought he was doing well, leaning only on cigarettes as his crutch. Apparently she had been wrong, she had been stupid to believe him, to stand up for him against Mycroft and his parents. He was an addict, this should've effect her like this anymore, but it did. Every time.

 

_Leave me, leave me... say that you need me_

 

She brought her hands up and pushed his chest with all the anger she felt. He was knocked back by the force of her shove, stumbling gracefully back into the bathroom.

 

_I can't care about anything but you_

 

She stormed in after him, the door slamming closed with no one to hold it open. He was standing silently in the middle of the unisex bathroom, looking at her and still saying not a word. At least this time he had the decency to feel something and it showed through his gaze. She tore her eyes away from him and over instead to the sink, there seated beside the faucet was the evidence of his relapse.

 

Evie just nodded her head, biting the inside of her lip to keep from screaming at him. She knew from past experience that it didn't work, it didn't do anything but make her feel a little better. Her breathing was coming out a little harsh through her nose and she could feel the stinging start up. She was an angry cryer, she always had been, but now more than ever did she wish that she was different. She didn't want him to see her tears, he didn't deserve them.

 

“Evie.” He heard him whisper. But she wouldn't look up at him, she just kept staring at the drugs laid carelessly on the counter.

 

She shook her head and kept biting the inside of her lip, refusing to look at him. His soft voice was because he knew he'd screwed up, because he knew how angry she was.

 

She felt him come closer, his movement still precise and steady, even under the influence. He had been drinking all night and now he was high, she tried really, really hard not to worry about his well being. It didn't work though, even in anger she was worried for him, because she cared for him. And that made her just as weak as he always claimed her to be.

 

“Eve.” He whispered again, closer this time.

 

The gently quality his voice had taken on made her want to cry, and hit him, and hold him to her. He had just first-named her, it had taken her a second to realize. They rarely ever went by their birth names, Sherlock especially, and she was positive that she had never actually heard him call her Eve before. It was a little startling, seeing as the only people who refused to call her Evie were her parents.

 

She felt his hand come up to brush some hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. The sweet gesture should've been just that – sweet. Heartwarming, blush worthy, sweet. Instead, it made her hate him.

 

He was playing her, attempting to disarm her using tactics that he'd figured would work. And, they were working, to an extent. Which made her angrier.

 

How many times had she day dreamed this exact moment – minus the drugs and anger. How often did she yearn for his far and few in between soft murmurs and gentle touches? Her heart was beating fast in her chest, but she knew that it wasn't out of swooning for him, no, it was out of anger.

 

She was so fucking angry at him.

 

She jerked away from him, standing with her back towards the sink, facing him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You're fucking high.”

 

He didn't even bat an eye at her accusation. He didn't even flinch. He just continued to star at her with that heavy gaze, that softness still lingering around them.

 

He gave her a look that meant he was stating facts. “This is how I deal with my problems, you can deal with yours however you please.”

 

Her eyes narrowed sharply at him, and he was sure they would've pierced his skin if they were able. “What problems?” She stated, scoffing. “You don't have any problems, Sherlock. You're a seventeen year old genius who has everything fucking handed to him like the spoiled brat that you are. You have no problems.” Her words slapped him, as they were meant to, and she only felt slightly bad that they were having an effect. “You're biggest _problem_ is standing up to Mycroft and actually using some semblance of humanity.”

 

She expected him to scoff, to lecture, to cut her down with his vicious and pinpointed deductions. She didn't expect him to hold her gaze so solemnly before looking at the floor. They stood there for a few moments, not saying anything, not looking at each other.

 

He eventually looked up at her, eyes running over the smooth expanse of skin that was left bare when she removed her jumper earlier. He caught the downturn of her lips, the slight smudging of mascara in the corners of her eyes, the tight grip she had with her arms crossed. He sighed, running his hands over his face.

 

“I'm not sure what you want me to say.”

 

Her eyes shot up to meet his, swirling shades of the ocean during a thunderstorm. “I don't want you to say anything.” She moved from her spot against the sink, coming closer to where he stood. “Actually, I don't really want to speak to you at all right now. I don't even want to look at you.” Her voice sounded broken and sad. That odd stirring returned in his chest and he tried exceedingly hard to push it away.

 

“Well,” He began, gesturing towards the door. “You know how to walk away.”

 

There was something in his voice, a challenge almost, but neither of them were sure of what. Evie just sighed sadly, shaking her head. Her anger hadn't dissipated, but now she just felt tired. Drained.

 

“You need to get your shit together, Sherlock.” She turned, grasping the small clear bags and vials, dumping them down the sink and running the water over them. She threw out the useless containers and faced him. “There's going to be a time when none of us are around to clean up your messes, you do know that, right?” He said nothing, only watched her with sharp, glassy eyes. She sighed, pressing her fingers to her eyes, attempting to stop herself from crying. Yet, her voice was strong and devoid of that shaky quality that happened when she was upset.

 

“I don't think you'd be able to make it alone.”

 

Her words hit him like the arrow hit the target, pinching at him in the most uncomfortable way. She removed her hands from her eyes, looking at him with a level of seriousness she never possessed. He swallowed, unable to shake the feelings that were creeping up his skin like spiders, unable to push away the heaviness of her gaze. He cleared his throat, “Anything else?”

 

Those sad eyes turned hard in an instant, her jaw set and she shook her head. She stuck her hand in the pocket of his coat that laid on the counter beside the sink, pulling out his keys. “Yeah. I'm leaving. I'll call Mycroft to come clean up this mess. _Again_.”

 

She turned on her heel and walked out of the bathroom, trying not to let the over-beating of her heart or the stinging behind her eyes bother her as she pushed back out into the bar, though the room full of people looking for Maeve. Evie spotted her in the back corner by the stage, leaning against the end of the bar, talking to a group of people as they watched the band. She made her way over to the dark haired girl, coming to stand in front of her, blocking her line of sight.

 

Maeve's amber eyes looked her over, her brows furrowed. “What's wrong?”

 

“I need to leave.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Now.”

 

The urgency in her eyes won over Maeve quickly, nodding towards the others in the group before grabbing her things and walking out with Evie. She shrugged on her jumper, Sherlock's keys still clutched in her hand. They went out through the front, turning the corner that her and Sherlock had waited on. The cool air felt wonderful against her heated skin, but Maeve's eyes stopped her from going any further.

 

“What happened?”

 

She sighed, what did she even say? “I have to call, Mycroft.” The look in Maeve's eyes or the smarmy smile on her face should've made Evie smirk and roll her eyes. Right now, it didn't.

 

Maeve, attempting to keep the air light, gave a small smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. The over powering concern she felt for her friend won out on her snarky side. “Not that I'm ever upset by the prospect of swooning over Mycroft, but, why do you need to call him?”

 

Evie bit the inside of her lip and ran her hands over her tired face. “Sherlock just relapsed.”

 

“What?” Maeve's concerned face made an appearance, it wasn't often that Evie got to see it, seeing as Maeve made it a prerogative to be as sarcastic as possible a good portion of the time. But, the genuine look that passed over her features meant she had really not been expecting that. “Are you for real?”

 

Evie just nodded as she took out her cell phone. “Yup.”

 

“Wow.” Maeve breathed out. “Shit.”

 

“Pretty much.” Was Evie's only reply as she began to call Mycroft. It rang only twice before his bored voice was in her ears.

 

“You do realize that it's a completely unacceptable hour to be calling me.”

 

“Mycroft,” She cut off his tirade. “We have a problem.”

 

“Oh, yes, I'm sure whatever it is that Sherlock has done is quite annoying. If he's gotten into yet another spat with an unsuspecting victim, you could've texted me instead of calling at all hours of the night.”

 

“He's using again.”

 

The silence that strung out between them for a few moments had Maeve looking intently between her and the phone. Finally, she heard the small disappointed sigh on the other end. “Where are you.”

 

“The _Barracuda_.” She answered.

 

“I'll be right there.” She was about to hang up when he spoke again, “Let's not say anything to them until we know where this stands, yes?”

 

He wasn't necessarily _asking_ her as much as telling her not to say anything to their parents, but, she understood. If this was a one time thing, they didn't need to be involved. It broke Violet and William's hearts every time this happened, Evie understood what Mycroft was attempting to do. It was just odd hearing him care for other's feelings. She couldn't catch herself from saying it, it was too ingrained in her from childhood not too.

 

“Mycroft, you best be careful – I think your compassion is showing.”

 

He didn't even bother with a response before handing up.

 

She turned to Maeve, sighing. “Let's get out of here.”

 

“What?” Maeve looked a little appalled. “You mean you're not going to stay and wait for him?”

 

That was Maeve asking why they couldn't wait for her to have a casual run in with Mycroft. Evie didn't have time for it right now, she didn't want to see him again tonight. Period.

 

She rolled her eyes, “I know you want to see Mycroft, but, I can't see him again tonight. If I do, I might actually break his face.” She began to walk towards the street they had parked on. “God, the way he acted in there... it made me want to do things that would be classified as assault.”

 

Maeve just sighed and walked with her. “Alright, alright. Do you want to stay at mine? You can always bring his car back tomorrow, not like he'll miss it.”

 

“I was hoping you'd say that.” They got into the car, Evie pulling up the seat a bit to accommodate her. She wasn't super use to driving, seeing as Sherlock generally drove her everywhere. But, she had her license, she knew how to drive, and she was certainly not letting him drive himself home under the influence of alcohol and drugs.

 

“Hey.” Maeve grabbed her attention from the silence of the car and her thought. “I'm sorry, dude.”

 

Evie just sighed and gave a small smile to her friend, “I know.” She looked back towards the road. “Me too.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> TELL ME ALL YOUR THOUGHTS AND DREAMS.


End file.
